#and on my walk home i realised... she has a purple hood instead of a red one. reference to little red riding hood

[gorillaxyz]

fuck off... turner/wright together... wrighter... which adds to her whole book thing and the way she writes about phoenixs first 3 years defending 🥂🥂🥂🥂🥂fuck yes

[wolvesandpetals]

Fanfic: Loki x Sylvie Oneshot (Hurt/Comfort, Rated: teen, no adult content. Set before, during and after that scene in 1 x 05)

She should be inside, talking to the other Lokis, learning more about this place and its dangers, and strategically planning their next move. Instead, she is out here in the open, staring into the abyss, like she has been almost her entire life. She has lived in apocalypses, watching the colors of the sky change as people merrily went on with their lives, completely unaware of how fleeting it all is. Yet, in the middle of all that death and destruction, there she always has been, the epitome of survival.

[[MORE]]

This “Void” is no different. This is another place where death and destruction reigns but she remains standing at the end of the day. The sky is blue, but far away, where it meets this foresaken land, is a menacing shade of purple, resembling the one in Lamentis-1. It brings back memories of that night.

As if on cue, Loki comes and sits down beside her. For a man who never shuts up, he’s unusually quiet. She wonders what he might be thinking about. Their impending battle, his future plans, the TVA, Asgard, Thor…

Or whatever it is that he was about to tell her before he got pruned.

—

It’s not the best time to talk when you’re driving a shoddy car away from the mouth of a hungry demon cloud, but that won��t stop him.

“Hell of a Nexus event you caused there,” Mobius comments.

Sylvie’s heart skips a beat. “You know what my Nexus event was? You know why I was taken from Asgard?”

Mobius winces internally. “Oh, that. Sorry. I am in the dark, just like you. I don’t even know what my nexus event was.” His heart breaks at the thought of what home might be like. Does he have a family? Kids? What did he leave behind?

The car hits debris on the road, and they both bump their heads on the hood of the vehicle. “I’m talking about the Nexus event at Lamentis-1”, he clarifies.

“Yeah, about that. How did you know where to show up? What was the Nexus event?”

Mobius smiles. This one is just as clueless as the other one. And even though he has been hunting her for as long as he can remember, he can’t bring himself to voice it quiet as harshly this time. “Well, you and Loki had a connection back there. That’s what sent the timelines into a dizzy. Two Lokis falling in love.”

She feels the air leave her lungs. “I’m sorry, did you just say, love?”

He doesn’t answer, and in the silence, punctuated by the creature’s evil roar, she realises she’s been so focused on what was happening- the running, the fighting, the revelations, the pruning- that she never really stopped to think about how it made her feel.

That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it always has to be when you’re on the run through space and time.

And though she is still being chased at this very moment, she can’t help but contemplate this time. How does she feel?

Now that she thinks about it, deep down, she knows, no matter how many times she tells herself she is only doing this to find who is behind the curtains and get her life back, she would have gone about it in a completely different way, like she always has- hiding, fighting, planning and executing. There is only one reason why she would ever stab herself with a pruning stick.

(Love is a dagger, after all. A glowing, pruning one.)

—

“Mobius is not so bad.” She begins, and it doesn’t take them too long to completely deny their feelings for the other as well as promise their undying loyalty and pledge to be at each other’s side when all this is over.

She snuggles closer to Loki. “Loki?”

“Hmm?”

“If this is not a table cloth, then it’s surely a cape, right?”

He laughs, and it does something to her stomach that she still has to find a name for. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why did you ditch your hood?”

She shrugs. A whole life spent in the shadows, away from the spotlight, against the very basic instinct of a Loki. And now? “I’m tired of hiding, I guess.” Her voice is resolute, and her eyes shine with glorious purpose. “I want to be seen.”

“I see you,” he says softly. “I’d like to see more of you.”

She looks up at him with a curious smirk.

“That’s not what-” He’s visibly flustered, and it’s so much fun to make him squirm like this. “It’s not how it sounds. What I meant to say is, I’d like to see you again, when all of this is over.”

She smiles. Didn’t he say this already, when she was scared that he would leave her when all this is over?

Is he just as scared of her leaving him when all of this is over?

“I don’t know”, she bumps her shoulder against his playfully. “Do I want to torture myself so much?”

He feigns offense. “I will have you know, kings and presidents and Gods have begged- begged just to be granted an audience with me. You don’t know how lucky you are.”

“Lucky me”, she says only half- sarcastically. “Stuck here with you under the same-”, she tilts her head to indicate the green material that is currently shielding two frost giants from the cold, the ridiculousness of this not lost on her, “-blanket.”

“Lucky you,” he repeats unironically, and his hand finds its way to hers, their fingers intertwining.

He’s held hands before. He’s had women snuggle up to him too. But not like this. Not anyone who matters. Not anyone whose eyes sing “Come home”.

He places a soft kiss on her hair, the lips that have uttered a thousand lies now focused on the one truth.

She feels her whole body burn.

She’s seen a thousand worlds die before her own eyes, always escaping before the blistering heat found its way to her, never having the ability to save even a single life, knowing it’ll cause a Nexus event and she would be discovered. She’s witnessed so many people’s death- people who gave her food, shelter, clothing, shared a laugh or two with the orphan child from Asgard- the poor, lost, scared, little Sylvie.

Now she’s here, and she’s not completely certain that she’s not going to die.

Yet, this is the most alive that she has ever felt.

Her grip on his hand tightens, and he squeezes in return. Mobius would have a field day if he was to walk out and see them like this now.

“Loki, if I don’t make it-” she begins.

He cuts her off firmly. “Don’t.” The thought of losing her has been on his mind since the moment he got pruned, and he doesn’t think he can handle the thought of losing her again.

“How did you feel when you got pruned before you could tell me what it was you wanted to tell me?”

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. He knows what he wanted to say, but he doesn’t know yet what it was he was going to say. The words were about to roll off his tongue, and then it was gone. All hope, all possibilities of a future, snatched away in just a moment. “I felt distraught.” He confesses honestly.

“Exactly.” She sits up now, facing him directly, crawling out from under the blanket, but never letting go out of his hand. “If I don’t make it, I’ll feel the same way.”

His face clouds with hope and confusion at the same time. “What are you saying?”

She’s not sure. She’s learnt at least thirty-four different languages from her life in apocalyptic worlds, yet, no language has the words to capture quite how she feels.

“Sylvie?” He prompts again, daunted by the silence.

“Loki.” She says his name. Because that’s all there is. The one word. This is about him. Maybe it always has been, maybe all those poets and musicians and dreamers are right and your whole life does lead up to something.

Maybe her whole miserable, horrible, terrible life has been leading up to this.

This moment when she closes the gap between their lips.

Her eyes are wide open, just like his, and they are staring at each other, waiting to see how the other reacts.

Maybe this was a mistake, she thinks, but his lips press harder against hers.

It’s still just a tender, sweet peck, and their eyes are still open, but his hands give hers another squeeze. He pulls back and leans his forehead against her, making their noses brush.

And then his lips find hers with a fever that mirrors her own, and their eyes flutter shut.

She’s lived in apocalypses. She knows that worlds are dying at this very moment. And at the same moment, other worlds are being born out of this, this dance between their lips- a Nexus event that is creating new timelines, new life.

(Love is a dagger, indeed. And you can see yourself in it, after all. But when you reach for it, it doesn’t always disappear. Sometimes, it’s so very real.)

[vlindervin7]

put your chin on my shoulder, love 

read on ao3 

Put your chin on my shoulders, love. Climb under the quilt. Remind me what joy feels like. You do it every day, darling -- shouldn’t be too troublesome for you. 

***

The sun is sinking when Kieu My arrives at the shop, and with it its warmth disappears too. She shivers when she pushes open the door. She quickly closes it behind her to preserve the warmth inside, and lets it warm her up before she enters the store. 

She’s only been here once or twice, but she already loves it. There’s something magical about the dim lighting mixing with the colours of the aquariums, the fish all around her and the purple lightning. 

The colours of the bi flag, she thinks with a little smile. She’s been noticing these things more and more, doing research and embracing it as part of her instead of fearing it. It feels nice, quiet acts of acceptance and pride. 

She’s still lost in thought when suddenly from behind she hears, ‘Kieu My!’ 

Her smile grows at the sound. When she turns around she’s met with the sight of Fatou bent over one of the aquaria, one hand holding a box and the other excitedly waving at Kieu My. Kieu My’s body does a small excited bounce before she has the chance to stop it, before she can contain it and then realise she doesn’t need to be guarded anymore and do it anyway. This way is definitely quicker. 

When she’s by Fatou’s side, Kieu My breathes out a ‘hi’. Fatou straightens onto the tip of her toes and drops a quick kiss on her lips that, however brief, makes something tighten in her chest. The sweetest person on the planet is her girlfriend and Kieu My doubts there’s anything she’s ever done that made her deserve this. 

‘Hi! I’m almost done, just gotta finish feeding some of the fish. I’ll be right there.’ She waits for Kieu My’s nod as her cue to continue doing what she was doing, and Kieu My starts walking to the register to sit down and wait. She’s stopped by Fatou saying ‘wait’ before she can get very far, though, and when she turns around she finds her rummaging through her sweater pockets, and finally fishing out a bright pink piece of candy wrapped in crackling plastic. Then, with her hand outstretched and the candy in the middle of it, she bows. Taking on a ridiculous, deep voice, and looking up at Kieu My with an exaggerated smoldering look, she says: ‘My love, will you accept this candy as a token of my affection? It stands for my heart and is as sweet as you are.’ 

Fighting back a laugh, Kieu My curtsies, takes the candy and brushes her lips against it, before pressing it to her heart. ‘I will take good care of it, good sir.’

She manages to look serious for about two seconds before she succumbs to giggles, even though a part of her was dead serious saying she’d do anything to keep Fatou’s heart safe now that she’s been trusted with it. It’s the most important task she’s ever been given. 

She pops the candy in her mouth, and asks, ‘Why do you walk around with a bunch of candy?’

Fatou’s still softly laughing. ‘It’s for when kids come in! They like it.’

‘You’re sweet.’ 

Fatou turns her smile downwards and shrugs, ‘It makes them happy.’ 

Kieu My laughs at her bashfulness, but she knows she doesn’t have much of a leg to stand on when it comes to Fatou. 

Fatou shakes her head, seemingly shaking herself out of the state she’d gotten in. ‘Okay! Go sit down, I’ll finish up quickly.’

This time Kieu My manages to actually sit down on the chair behind the register. She gets comfortable with her leg folded on the chair and her chin resting on her knee. She’s perfectly placed to keep Fatou in her line of sight, see how she feeds the fish and talks to them, how she wipes down aquaria while humming a tune and bobbing her head to it, how she catches Kieu My’s eye and gives her a smile that’s as bright as the first time. Kieu My’s pretty sure she’s in love. 

It takes about ten minutes for Fatou to finish what she’s doing and come bounding in Kieu My’s direction. ‘Now I just need to count the money, and we can go.’ She drops a quick kiss on Kieu My’s head, setting free a horde of butterflies who were dormant in her stomach, and opens the cash register with a ping. ‘Sorry for making you wait.’ 

‘It’s okay’, Kieu My answers. It’s all she can say, unless she wants to let her know she’ll wait however long she needs to spend time together, and that she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than sitting right here, but she doesn’t think she’s ready to be that honest quite yet. 

Instead, she gets up and, using her height to her advantage, wraps her arms around Fatou’s waist, and sets her head on her shoulder. She’s just tall enough to easily be able to look over it to what she’s doing. It makes Fatou pause for a second, leaning into it, before she picks up the money she was counting and promptly starts over. 

‘Am I distracting you?’, Kieu My asks, putting her lips on the exposed part of her shoulder.

With a huff Fatou answers, ‘Yes.’, and shivers when Kieu My kisses her neck. She allows it for a few seconds, before gently moving Kieu My’s head away from her skin. ‘Now, shush, I need to concentrate.’ She punctuates it by bringing one of Kieu My’s hands to her mouth and kissing it before wrapping it back around her. 

Kieu My laughs. ‘Sorry’, she says, but she’s not really. Really her whole body feels warm with the kiss and with the knowledge that Fatou didn’t push her off entirely, that she’d rather be distracted than do that. She’s definitely in love. 

It doesn’t take long once Kieu My behaves, and five minutes later the cash register has been counted, the amount has been written down, the lights are off, and Fatou is closing the entrance door behind them with a key attached to an axolotl keychain. 

With how warm and comfortable she’d been inside, Kieu My had forgotten how cold she’d been walking here, and now that the sun is completely gone it’s even worse. She wraps her coat tighter around herself, but it doesn’t do much. She still shivers hard enough for Fatou to notice. 

‘Are you cold?’ 

‘Yeah, forgot my scarf at home.’ 

‘Here’, Fatou says, unwrapping her scarf from around her neck and, not listening to Kieu My’s protests, stands on her toes to wrap it around Kieu My’s neck instead, leaving it there with a kiss on her nose that only serves to heighten the warmth she’s receiving from the scarf. 

‘But now you’ll be cold.’ 

‘Nah’, Fatou says. She zips up her jacket all the way up and pulls her hood up, too. ‘See? I’m all covered.’ 

She does look very well-protected to the cold, but Kieu My can’t help feeling guilty. ‘You sure?’ 

‘Yeah’, she assures her, accompanied by one of her little head bobs, ‘I’m sure. And besides’, she takes Kieu My’s hand and starts walking again, their entire sides pressed together, ‘this way you’ll just have to keep me close.’ 

‘Okay’, Kieu My breathes out, putting an arm around Fatou’s shoulder so she can pull her even closer to her, ‘I can do that.’ 

the excerpt is from here! thanks @davidtransking for the suggestion! if anyone wonders what to buy me for my bday ill take an axolotl keychain in honour of fatou

[green-and-grey-kenaz]

Ghosts of Venice

Language: English

Characters: Nico di Angelo (Percy Jackson Series), Ezio Auditore (Assassin’s Creed)

Summary:

While trying to find out more about his past, Nico di Angelo travels to Venice where he meets a shadowy figure, the ghost of an assassin. The self titled Ghost King is rather used to commanding the spirits of the dead, unfortunately this ghost seems intent on giving him advice, whether he wants it or not.

The spirit of Ezio sees a lot of himself in a young teenager, who's come to Venice looking for answers and has the shadow of death over him.

Word Count: c. 2 500

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32877292

Nico stared down at the people passing by on the streets and tried to piece it with the fragments of memories he’d slowly been recovering. Had Venice (Venezia) been this busy when he had lived here all those years ago with his mother and Bianca? Did they have quite so many boats (and quiet so large)? If he walked through the streets long enough, would he find the house that he had once lived in? Would he know it? His mother had been the daughter of an ambassador, she must have been somewhat important and the house somewhat grand but that didn't narrow down his options. Nico wondered who lived in what used to be his home. Might he have cousins and if so, did they now live there?

The answer would have been to walk the streets and see if any memories resurfaced and that had been Nico’s intent but even in the dead of winter he felt like there were too many tourists. Nico did not mind the bitter cold that blew in from the mountains carrying flecks of snow that were not confined to the mountainous hillside but neither did the visitors. They just pulled their gloves and coats closer around them. Nico stared down at his own hands, a slight purple tint to them. Like so many things, he could ignore it but his body was annoyingly physical and took repercussions. Unfortunately he had no lira to his name (Nico frowned, it was the euro now) and while he was not opposed to a little bit of theft, he'd rather avoid it if possible.

Crossing his arms, he pressed his fingers against his sides with a begrudging awareness that loosing his fingers to frostbite would likely be to his detriment. His dark gaze returned to the city below him. It would be quieter once the evening set in.

“È bella, no?” A voice asked.

Nico jumped, nearly falling off of the tower he was perched on. Behind him was a white robed, a pointed hooded casting a strange shadow over his eyes which glittered uncomfortably bright in the darkness. There was the stench of death around the man and not just because he himself was not counted amongst the living. Nico could tell that this spirit, who ever he was, had killed many people. It clung to him, a miasma upon his very being but he did not seem bothered.

The more pressing concern though, was that somehow this spirit had managed to appear without his notice. That was something the son of Hades was not used to. Far down below him he could sense the lares, angry spirits that seemed so endemic to Italian cities and they had generally accepted his orders to keep back. This ghost seemed completely unbothered by the aura Nico was giving off. Another reason to be cautious.

“What are you?” Nico growled, pulling out his sword and pointing it straight at the ghost’s chest. Most would shy away from Stygian Iron but this figure seemed unbothered as he moved to stand next to Nico, who’s sword followed the ghost’s movements but he just stared out across the city.

“I have been many things but what I am more than any is a free spirit.” He answered, turning to look down at Nico and pushing the hood down to reveal young features, he couldn’t have been much more than eighteen and there was a certain carefreeness to him . It did not put Nico at ease.

“Nobody is free.” He said slowly. The stranger gave him a look that stunk of pity. Nico jabbed his sword forward, stopping shy of the ghost’s chest.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He growled.

“If you think that this is the first time I’ve had a sword pressed to my chest, you would be sadly mistaken, piccino. But perhaps your question should not be what am I but why am I here?”

“Don’t talk to me in such a familiar way.” Nico snarled, doing his best to force the ghost to leave. The Undead were his domain and they would listen to the son of their master. The teen sighed and leant against the wall.

“I too came here with much anger and hatred in me. Anger at the world, at the failure of justice and most of all anger at myself although I did not know it then.”

“I don’t feel that.” Nico said stiffly although he could feel a rising panic. Had he summoned this spirit without realising it? He should have a stronger grasp over his powers but this man seemed to know too much about him and if he had summoned him that would explain not realising until he was here.

“Hm.” The shade agreed, staring back out at the city.

“Who were you?” Nico asked as an uncomfortable silence lapsed between them. He may prefer the company of the dead but even they grated on him if they wouldn’t bend to his will.

“My name is Ezio Auditore da Firenze, although I doubt you have heard of me. If you had, I would have rather failed in my work.”

“What did you do?”

“I was an assassino.” Ezio said as if it were no matter. Nico looked out across the city and wondered about the angry shades down there.

“I gave my victims their rites. They should not linger.” Ezio assured, guessing the direction of his thoughts although Nico wasn’t so sure in the truth of Ezio's words – he had met some very stubborn and angry spirits during his time in this world. Again he felt the urge to ask this shade what exactly was he but that had gotten him nowhere. Instead, he got the feeling that Ezio would be cryptic when it suited him (never trust spirits, they always had an ulterior motive, usually wanting life).

“Do you want something?” He blurted out. Ezio was not leaving and seemed to have every intention on staying. It was irritating when he was here to be alone, couldn't the spirit take a hint by Nico sitting alone in the tower? Of course, he could shadow travel out of here but Nico did not particularly relish the idea of having fled from a spirit. It set a bad precedence.

“I do not want anything but to offer my advice and support.” Ezio said and he looked at Nico with a gaze that stopped his heart. The smile on his face was warm and accepting, just like Percy when he smiled with his friends. Nico’s hand clenched and the stones beneath his feet began to tremble. Not ideal when you were in a tower.

“I do not need help. I do not need advice.”

“I find the people who don’t need help are perhaps the ones who most require it. I certainly wish I had thought to ask for help more. I was not as alone as I thought I was and I would have been happier to not remain in my solitude.”

“Maybe I like being alone.”

“Perhaps. But if you did, would you insist so much on it?”

Nico frowned. Finally he lowered his sword and took a seat next to Ezio, feet dangling over the edge. It occurred to him that it would be easy to simply slip over the edge and plummet to the earth with just one wrong move. Perhaps he could shadow travel before he hit the ground, perhaps he couldn’t. He wondered whether his father would care.

“I used to live here.” Nico said softly. “But I don’t remember it. I thought by coming here I might get some memories back. My mother and sister…” His voice tightened.

“They are not here.” It was a soft observation.

“My father wiped my memory of my mother…. Of her death. My sister died not long after… Someone I knew failed to save her.” He glared at the ground below.

“A man my father trusted signed his death warrant, and the one for my brothers and myself. It was fortune that I escaped although they did not.” Ezio said, almost easily but there was a catch in his throat. Nico felt his heart ache with that catch and he stared down least Ezio see emotion in his eyes. “It is why I came here. There was a web behind their deaths and it was a web I desired to untangle. Or rather burn.”

“I can’t ki… There is no possibility of vengeance for me.” Nico sighed, head drooping. His mother had been killed by Zeus’ thunderbolt and Bianca had died killing the automaton that killed her and while it was Percy who had failed to save her... He was Percy. It left him feeling somewhat empty.

“That may be just as well. Vengeance made no man happy.”

“It would be a good first step though.”

“I cannot count how many I killed in the name of vengeance, only to realise that killing those who had wronged me would not bring peace. It takes greater courage and strength to build, il mio giovane amico, than it does to tear down. I realised that only too late in life.”

Nico’s nose wrinkled at the familiarity this man had slipped into.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Then perhaps you should tell me. Or someone.” Ezio said gently. He may be a ghost, but the wind ruffled his hair.

“No one would understand.”

“Perhaps that is the great thing about talking to one who is already dead. Does it matter whether I understand or not?”

“Will you leave me if I tell you?”

It wasn’t a plead. It was exasperation, Nico told himself. And it certainly wasn’t a desire to push someone away so he could mope in solitude and generally feel bad for himself. What did it matter that this long dead man had lost his family. Ezio was dead and not living with the realities of it. Ezio had been able to get vengeance and was happy like Percy. His fingers twisted the ring and perhaps he should have felt that but apparently they were numb now.

“If that is what you still desire.”

Nico frowned, thinking. Ezio was dead and if there was one thing that the dead were good at, it was keeping secrets. What was more, he had been an assassin and that sort were notorious about taking their secrets to the grave. Still…

“And you were not sent by my father?”

“Your father?”

“Hades.”

Ezio frowned and leaned back so he was stretched precariously on the wall. If he’d been alive, a small nudge would have been enough to send him plummeting.

“I have not met Hades in my life or my death. The only fortune I had was to once meet the goddess Minerva.”

Nico frowned.

“You mean Athena?”

“She informed me she has had many names.”

Nico made a note to ask his father about that. He’d never thought about how the Roman gods were so similar to the Greek ones.

“That means… you were mortal. As in not a demigod?” Almost all the ghosts he spoke with had ancestry with one of the gods. They tended to leave more of an impact and he certainly would rather understand the enigma of this spirit that he could not control.

“You would be the second godly figure I have met.” Ezio smiled. It was too warm and friendly.

“I wouldn’t say I was godly.” Nico muttered. “I’m the son of Hades. That kind of puts a damper on any relationships I might he able to have. Who wants to hang out with someone who’s more comfortable with the dead and darkness? I can see the fear in their eyes when I turn up at meals, how they shift uncomfortably away from me at the fire in the evening. No one wants me because I don’t belong. No one wants a reminder that death will come to them eventually.”

“I may not know what it is like to be the son of a god of the dead, but I know what it is to be an assassin and to many I was the kiss of death. I could have chosen to walk alone and in many ways, I had. I could have had love, for so many did love me and I would have only given my love too freely, yet I kept my ways to myself and pushed those I had left away.”

“I have no one left.”

“You have your father.”

“He’s… busy. And I don’t exactly get on with Persephone.”

Ezio placed a ghostly hand on Nico’s shoulder and he flinched. It was warm and suddenly he felt filled with promise and hope. He felt Ezio’s anguish as he pushed his way towards the gallows only to hear his family drop to the jeers of the crowd. He felt the young man’s burden as he guided his traumatised mother and sister to the only place left to them. Nico could feel his anger as he killed his childhood rival that had helped put in place the events that had caused everything to go wrong. He saw the deaths that Ezio had caused in his grief and determination. He could feel the drive that corrupted the carefree youth who had once run over the tiles of Florence. And he saw the love that fought within Ezio’s chest. He felt the love and companionship that Ezio had found with Leonardo Da Vinci and the Thieves. The growth from anger to acceptance and wisdom. The realisation that he could trust his sister to defend herself and mend that bond tossed aside decades ago. The warmth of brotherhood and found family that built around that. Ezio’s knowledge in his dying moments that his greatest achievement had been what he had built and not torn down and he was happy with that.

“You care greatly, although like me, you believe that it is not something that you can’t allow yourself to feel.”

Normally these things weren’t a two way streak and Nico pressed his lips together. That was too presuming of Ezio, to read his own feelings and heritage.

“I don’t care.” But his words did not have their usual bite.

“I think you do, Nico di Angelo. You have put so much of yourself into helping others at the expense of yourself and I do not see this being something you can escape. You care deeply yet you do not let them know all you have risked. Do you know what the creed of the Assassins was?”

Nico shook his head and Ezio rose to his feet, standing on the edge of the tower.

“We work in the dark, to serve the light.” A ghost of a smile went over his lips highlighting a scar that glistened in the weak winter light. With a pang, Nico felt a kindred spirit. He gave Ezio a nod.

“Until we meet again.”

The shade leapt into the air, arms outstretched as if he could fly. He twisted through the air and Nico stared after the descending figure who shifted into shadow moments before he would have hit the ground had he been alive.

[honesthammie]

4th prompt part 2

The silence was appreciated as your mind wrapped up today's event. You had met your soulmate in a goddess of a woman. Everything you had discovered so far was perfect. You watched as she pulled a metal disk and metal stick from her pockets. The metal stick made a strange buzzing sound and glowed a faint orange at the tip as she hovered over the disk.

"What are you doing?" You asked after watching her in curiosity for a few moments. You would've let her continue as her face was quite the sight. Her eyes were sparkling with intent and her nose had the most adorable scrunch.

She stopped for a moment as you spoke as if thinking on what to say before continuing. "I'm scanning for any spider eggs in the building so we can take them with the other spiders to a planet of their own. A planet without civilisation but full to the brim with creatures they can eat. I think, the fam got them all. No, fam still doesn't seem right. The team does sound better!"

"A planet? What, are you some kind of alien?"

"Yes. Would that be a problem?" She asked. From the way her eyes sparkled, I believed her. Great, no wonder why she seemed so ethereal! So when I say, she's out of this world, it'd be a fact and not a flirtatious comment! For fuck sake, that's one of my best lines as well! Maybe I could use it when the time is right?

"Nope. After the discoveries of my life recently, that's actually the most believable thing. Please don't ask yet. However, those spider babies trust me. You aren't going to get them to listen without me. I spent at least a full 5 hours with them, they trust me more than you. Come on little Miss Sunshine, hop to it, the spiders won't wait forever." I spoke with confidence. I knew she knew, she needed me. That's why she followed me. "I'm (y/n) by the way"

"Great name! Love that name, was always one of my favourites. I've always fancied myself as a (y/n) but the faces never seem to fit it. I'm normally a John but I can't be now I'm a woman. Why don't you give me an alias for when I'm undercover?"

"Hmmm. I quite liked the name Alice and you certainly suit that name. Is there a name people call you when you aren't undercover. What do family call you?"

"Alice. I love that! I'm keeping Smith. Alice Smith. Perfect! Knew you'd be the one to help me. People tend to call me the Doctor. So do I for some reason. Wish I knew why."

This cute blonde alien was more mysterious the more we talked. She told me of how her ship goes in time as well as in space. She told me of the time of when she met Robin Hood with an older face and a companion named Clara. All this talk and I wasn't bothered once by it. I could listen and watch her all day as she talks about adventures she's been on. She puts all the theatrics on and waves her arms about with so much passion and her eyes show her emotions so clearly. But I also saw age. If she's older than she looks, just how old is she? Not that it bothers me, it's just, if she's like hundreds of years old, she's probably had other lovers and I don't know if plain old me can compete with that.

Sooner than we realised, we came towards a blue Police box. She clicked her fingers and waltzed right in. This must be her TARDIS. I walked inside with awe. The ship was beautiful inside. Like a gem hidden as an ore. The golden and blue lights perfectly reflected her personality.

"It's fucking massive Sunshine! Ya didn't warn me about walking into a football field! No wonder why thousands of spiders seemed no problem! Fucking hell!" I stated as my eyes scanned the room in front of me. Then I felt a little tug on my right trouser leg. I looked down and saw a little spider wanting my attention. I bent down and picked him up. He seemed happy to be held like that so I kept him in that position as I wondered towards the Doctor.

I had so many questions I wanted to know and I'm sure she has too. But now was not the time for that. We needed to get these spiders to their new home. I continued to watch the Doctor as she danced around something she called a console. She was pressing buttons and pulling levers and many more things until the ship made a strange wheezing noise and I was thrown off my feet. Thankfully I was caught by someone. I looked up and saw an oldish man.

"Hello Love! I can tell this your first time here. We all fell down when she first did that with us. You learn to find something to grab onto. I'm Graham by the way." Graham spoke gently but loudly over the noise of the ship. I couldn't help but giggle, my grandad used to call me Love too.

Then as quick as the ship started, it came to a gentle stop. I looked around and notice the same 2 people from earlier. The girl was smiling and laughing to something the boy mentioned. They must be old friends. I then noticed the Doctor walk towards the doors and open them just enough for her to check outside.

"Right (n/n). I'm calling you that as we are friends now. Go on, it's your first new planet and you care about these spiders more than we do so I think it's best if you check everything it perfect for them!" The Doctor spoke with excitement. She even clapped her hands for a moment, obviously not being able to control the surge of energy running through her.

I held the spider in my arms and the doors opened in front of me. I closed my eyes for a moment as the light blinded me temporarily. I could feel the warmth of a sun and the cool breeze the gently whipped past your face giving you the perfect cooling needed. The planet smelled sweet yet sour like Toxic waste sweets. I could hear many creatures making strange noises, some were doing a high pitched growl and some others were doing deep scream. Then there were nicer sounds like birds tweeting but in a lower key and something sounded like a piano, specifically an old ragtime piano.

I slowly opened my eyes and noticed the silver sky and its 4 suns in each direction. I noticed that the high pitched growl was from a small flying frog like creature and the deep scream was from a big rabbit- horse like creature that was just chewing the purple leaves off the metal looking trees. The bird like sound belonged to a small Robin like creature, but instead of a red chest it was a beautiful blue hue and it had silver eyes that sparkled just right. The Ragtime piano sound belonged to a dog-raccoon like creature that scampered away with its mouth full of the fallen berries that the rabbit-horse dropped from the leaves. The grass beneath was as black as ink and the pond to the right of me was a strange red colour.

"Well what do ya think? I personally think it's perfect but you seem to know these arachnids better than me so, I could be wrong, although, I'm not often" The Doctor spoke with eagerness. I noticed her looking at me as I took in the world around me. Why does this feel all too familiar to me? Why do I like the escapism of Earth? Why is this so, freeing?

I took a deep breath in. "Its perfect Doc. The spiders will love it here! They'll adapt pretty quickly I believe. The creatures are big enough to satisfy them. Although the sounds are a little off putting." I put the spider in my arms in the oddly cotton soft grass and watched as the thousands of others followed in its footsteps. Some carried the baby spiders and others carried the eggs. They had already found a cave to lay the eggs and started weaving some webs within 10 minutes.

Once I was happy with everything, I said my goodbyes and entered the strange ship once more. I could feel fresh tears sting my eyes like tiny hot needles. I get so attached so quickly and I noticed the string warm up and I checked on my soulmate, she was looking at me with an all too familiar look, the look of complete adoration. So the string tells me when her love for me evolves until we kiss? I mean, that's when it disappears for everyone else.

"This was great Sunshine! I had a ride of a lifetime, I really did. So I guess, you can drop me off home, I'm probably not wanted and I don't wanna ruin your team dynamic here."

"Why on Earth would you think that? I was actually wondering if you'd like to join us. Those spiders trusted you and having someone like you would really make the adventures more thrilling. Besides, I really like you and there's something special about you and I can't place my finger on it. I don't like not knowing things. If I drop these off home for a bit, would you mind if I ran some tests on you?"

"Really? Sure. I don't mind. I actually wanna know aswell. You see, I know what's special but I don't want to tell you in front of the others, its a bit embarrassing." I asked whilst blushing. She nodded her head and set the TARDIS coordinates to Sheffield. The Doctor promised she'd be back in a week and set the TARDIS to float in our solar system whilst she got to work on me.

We walked into what I can assume is some sort of med Bay. The walk had conversations about the last planet and how we thought the spiders would adjust. Eventually she sat me down on a white bed.

"So, you said you knew why you were special. I don't like cliffhangers so I'll give you a custard cream if you tell me." She said as she got a paper document and waited for me to speak.

"I don't know how or why but have you ever heard of the red string of fate story?" I asked, wondering how to word this without sounding weird. She nodded her head in understanding. "Well, when I turned 16, I could see everyone's red strings. The world was covered in red. I was confused at first until I read that story."

"Hmm. That is interesting because all stories have some truth to them. Some are exaggerated and some are exactly as said. Well that story is a good example of that. Thousands of years ago, there were 2 species of human, homo sapiens and homo spectrians. Spectrians were low on numbers in population as they'd spend almost all their life playing match maker. You'd know Spectrians as Cupids. However when battles and wars happened, Cupids were out of a job as everyone had to focus on the country and not themselves. This is where arranged marriages started happening and Cupids were becoming depressed. Eventually the Cupids decided to blend in with the humans and became virtually extinct. You might be the only Cupid left in the universe, other than Valentine himself." She explained it so well.

"Can Cupids see their own string?" I asked. She paused for a moment. Her eyes flickered between heartbroken and hopeful. I felt the string flicker between cold and toasty warm just like her eyes.

"No. Cupids weren't supposed to have soulmates. But I guess you are technically half human so maybe that makes sense. Do you know who your soulmate is?"

"She's amazing. She's like a Goddess. When I first saw her I immediately thought, She's too fucking perfect for someone like me. She incredibly smart too but, can be oblivious. I mean, I only met her a few hours ago and I'm fucking smitten with her. She reminds me of sunshines and rainbows. I'm just waiting for her to make a move." I told her. She looked at me for a moment, processing this new information. She smirked for a moment once she figured it out.

"Well my soulmate had me wrapped around her finger the second she jumped in front of a spider to save her life. A bold move like that normally makes me mad but, she did it so well. I haven't known her long but I can see me being by her side forever, travelling the stars. She reminds me of those stars actually. The way she sparkles in the light. I love you (y/n) with both of my hearts." She spoke softly as we slowly leaned in. When she finished, she planted her soft lips on mine and the red string was gone. Not that I noticed until an hour later when we picked the team up and held hands to announce our relationship.

Maybe dating a sunshine is exactly who I needed.

[cockasinthebird]

ahhh grats on the milestone!! also holy shit youve got 500 prompts stored away somewhere??? im gonna go with my favourite number combo..... 317 👀 im super excited to see what you come up with!! 💖 -bbsitterpng

@babysitterpng  Thank you so much!!! And yes, 500 goddamn prompts, all carefully curated, only the best for my beloved mutuals and followers!!

I got SO ELATED when I saw that you sent me a mystery prompt request!!!! ❤️💕 I would have finished it yesterday, but I got uhhh distracted 😏😏😏

317. “I think you’ll be happy to know I’m not wearing any underwear.”

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again and again and again; I knew exactly what I wanted to write for this immediately, and while I worry the exposition seems too rushed, I am very satisfied with the rest, all near 4k words!

So please, enjoy~

-

Today has been a long day that started when the sun had barely found its place in the sky.

Neil was beating at his bedroom door, asking why it’s locked, threatening to kick it down, demanding that Billy get up right now to mow the lawn, just to complain about what a shitty job he did after, shouting about how he has to do everything himself.

Billy would beat his pillows, lift weights till his muscles hurt, and smoke like a chimney, all to alleviate stress in one way or another.

At 12 Max was leaving to go play DnD with her little loser friends, ready to skate her way over there, but Billy needed to get out of the house, have a valid excuse, and it doesn’t get better than “watching out for his little sister.”

They’re on good terms now, after they had gotten in an intense fight and she screamed at him to just leave her and her friends alone, and after not spending every waking hour hating and antagonizing her, she’s not as annoying anymore, and Billy thinks that perhaps his anger was the issue here, not her being a little shit.

That realisation helped him a lot in general. It’s around that time he “apologised” to Harrington the best he could, but when Steve was nice and understanding of his issues, it only made him angry again. Billy doesn’t believe he deserves to be forgiven so easily, no, Harrington should have hit him, defended himself, gotten pissed and told Billy to fuck off.

Instead they wound up at Benny’s diner, sharing a giant plate of fries and a milkshake each.

“My treat,” Steve insisted.

And that’s when old issues resurfaced; the same exact issues that meant they had to leave California. The same exact issues that brought Billy’s wrath upon this pretty boy. The same exact issues that led one thing to another, and now Billy knows the route from his house to the Harrington Mansion like the back of his hand; could drive it with his eyes closed now.

But he doesn’t want to seem needy or clingy. Doesn’t want to be what he is - the way he is.

So after dropping Max off at the Wheeler’s house, the fiery redhead even going as far as to offer him a bit of a smile, he didn’t go home. Didn’t drive to Steve’s house either no matter how much he wanted to.

Don’t be needy, don’t be clingy. You’ll see him later.

So for four hours he drove around town, smoked by the quarry, got admired at a gas station when he refilled, passed Steve’s street far too many times, went to the empty pool that’s closed for the year and sat with his feet over the edge and smoked some more, restlessly kicking the tiling. Over the course of this time he checked his watch at least a billion times.

When it was finally 4pm, he drove to pick up his sister and El - the gang having managed to convince both Steve and Billy to take them to the movies to watch the last screening of The Neverending Story, which doesn’t exactly sound like something he wants to watch, but knowing Steve will be there, he agreed all too readily.

And as he pulls back up to the Wheeler’s again, he sees the brown BMW, Steve leaning against the door as he waits for the boys to pile into his car. Billy’s heart is beating like a painful drum in his aching chest, and when Steve sees him sitting and waiting for the girls, he smiles at him and waves.

Billy is as always astounded and breathless by the way Steve smiles, the way Steve looks at him now, like he’s happy to see him. He can’t smile back, he wants to, but his face feels dull and incapacitated. He wants to just kick open his car door, stomp up to Steve and fucking kiss him. Instead he simply waves back.

Then Max breaks the trance as she pulls open the door and crawls in to sit in the back with El.

“What the hell took you guys so long, I’m starving,” Billy complains as he looks over his shoulder at them.

Max is smart and doesn’t answer, and Billy is smart and doesn’t ask again. No he remains quiet as they follow the beemer, Max and El laughing loud and joyous behind him like girls their age do, talking about shit he doesn’t care for, just focuses on the car in front as they drive to Benny’s diner for early dinner before going to wolf down popcorn at the cinema.

-

The gang is eager and excited, like kids should be, running to the diner as they talk all too frantically about whatever it is kids talk about, Billy is really not paying attention, when Steve is right there.

“Find a booth where we can all sit!” Steve shouts after them, and Billy’s not sure if they heard him at all. “Hey Hargrove, got a smoke?” his voice kinder and friendly, too friendly, as he addresses Billy.

Steve leans against the hood of the camaro, smiling all too wide. He’s dressed in high waisted jeans and a red crop top that shows just enough of a midriff for it to be too much for Billy.

He takes up a spot next to Steve, just far away enough for it to not be suspicious, but absolutely too far away for it to not be enough, yet even from here he can smell the floral soap and honey shampoo. Can’t help but think of how soft Steve’s skin is, how silky his hair is, all newly washed and clean of him. Wonders if the purple hickeys are still visible across his chest, up his thighs.

Even though Steve is trying his best to meet Billy’s gaze, he refuses to look at him just in case it would be too obvious what he’s thinking about, as he unwraps a fresh pack of Marlboro and offers one up.

When Billy ignites his lighter and reaches forth, Steve touches his hand, holds it steady as he leans in to bring his cigarette to the flame. There’s a burning sensation where his pale, soft hand connects them, and when Steve dares rub Billy’s wrist with his fingers, there’s a pain shooting through his heart, a sharp wanting for more. No, a need for more. He’s caught staring at those pretty, pink lips when Steve pulls away and exhales a cloud.

“What’s wrong?” he asks with a wry smile, clearly aware.

“You know damn well ‘what’s wrong’,” Billy snaps a bit harsher than intended as he continues to force himself to look away.

Thankfully Steve takes it well and huffs a laugh filled with smoke.

They end up in silence after that; the comfortable kind that comes from being at peace together, easy and relaxed and pleasant, one where they don’t need words because there’s no longer any doubt between them. Perhaps that’s what love is, as cheesy and gross as that may be, Billy ponders. To be able to just exist together without it being awkward or stilted. Perhaps he’s fallen a bit in love with his ex-rival. Or perhaps he’s just in love with how he feels when he’s with Steve, both physical and not.

It isn’t till Steve finishes his cigarette, drops it on the asphalt and stomps it out, that he speaks,

“Oh, I almost forgot, I wanted to tell you something.” He’s smiling like the cat that got the cream, licking his lips a bit too slowly as he goes to whisper in Billy’s ear, “I think you’ll be happy to know I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Billy’s heart skips several beats at that, before then going too fast - rapidly pumping blood through him, and there’s a certain rush of it going straight to his dick. He stares too long into those deep, dark eyes, mischievous and satisfied with the response as Billy short circuits.

“What?”

Steve shrugs and tips his head to the side a bit, acting all innocent and oblivious, lips drawn tight in a smile that goes from ear to ear. He opens his mouth and takes a long inhale, insinuating that he’s about to say something, then simply turns around, hands in his pockets as he walks towards the diner.

Leaving Billy behind, baffled, astonished, dumbfounded.

-

The next two hours feels like days.

They sit in the diner, Billy and Steve across from one another.

The kids are still as energetic as before, their voices a jumble of words and phrases and retellings of DnD from today’s session. Steve chews on his straw as he tries to follow along with whatever they’re talking about, laughing when they laugh, nodding on occasions. Whenever he looks over at Billy, blue eyes flee to stare out the window instead, finding great interest in the pattern of how one street light flickers.

Before the movie starts, they go to let out water by the urinals of the cinema, Billy standing right next to Steve, having hoped to catch a glimpse, see if he’s telling the truth, the urge near irresistible to just take a quick look, but the other men around them might not take too kindly to something like that.

And during the movie they sit together at the end of the row.

Steve, Billy, Max, El, Mike, Will, Dustin, Lucas.

He didn’t care for the movie before, only going along as a sign of friendliness and to have an excuse to not be home, but now. Now he’s almost hating having to sit here, next to Steve, shoulders nearly touching, shoes pressed together on the dark floor, only an armrest between them.

For the first twenty arduous minutes, Steve doesn’t do anything, doesn’t say anything, showing no sign of registering how near they are, just watches the movie in silence with a smile, while Billy is sat next to him, burning up despite his shirt being unbuttoned as always, mind racing with thoughts and images of Steve Steve Steve.

So distracted by all of that, that he nearly jumps when Steve touches his hand. Same softness and tenderness from earlier on the parking lot, the way Steve always touches him with just a hint of hesitance when they’re not completely alone.

But the cinema is dark, the kids are entranced, and there’s barely a handful of people besides them, so maybe it’s safe enough.

Billy raises his fingers into the touch, thinking that Steve wants to hold hands, intertwine them, any of that stupid romantic shit that he loves and Billy pretends to only barely tolerate, but the touch moves past that, a feather across the back of his hand, up to gently and carefully grab him by the wrist.

At that, Billy finally looks down, keeps facing the big screen but pays acute attention to what Steve is doing, where he’s leading his hand, placing it on his knee, Billy’s fingers in between spread legs. He continues to guide the hand further up, towards the heat of where his thighs meet, effectively sending Billy’s heart rate sky high.

When he finally turns his head, he finds Steve staring right back, a small and restrained smile, and in that moment, Billy feels like he can read Steve’s thoughts, knows exactly what’s on his mind, never doubts it for a second, and is proved right when Steve stands up and climbs over the seat to walk along the empty row behind them.

Billy whips around to Max, and hisses out, “We’re going for a smoke, don’t fucking go anywhere.”

“Yeah yeah,” she groans all indifferent and waves him away, eyes big and caught in the movie.

-

The bathroom at the Hawk is as clean as it ever gets, and perhaps not too shockingly, empty. Movies are running and people are seated.

Steve stands looking at himself in the mirror, fixing his hair, not that it looks any different to Billy now than before.

He takes heavy steps towards the brunette, announcing himself and catches Steve’s eyes in the mirror, watching as Billy approaches and steps behind him. Billy leans in to run his nose up Steve’s neck, inhaling deeply and humming out pleasantly, blinking slowly as he keeps pressing his face into the crook there, not quite kissing yet.

Eyes dart back to the mirror where heavenly blue meets chocolate brown, a feverish intensity there as Steve stares back. Gently, but with no hesitation, Billy snakes his arms around Steve’s waist, past the belt and up to touch where skin shows between jeans and the top.

When there’s no ‘stop’, he keeps going, curls his fingers around the red fabric and lifts up, exposing Steve’s chest to the both of them in the mirror. Bitten and marked, purple and red, Billy eyes his masterwork with an appreciative gaze, and with one hand keeping the shirt away, he moves the other up to graze his fingers across each little bruise his lips left just two days ago.

Steve hums a bit, erotic and turned on, and if more were to happen now, it wouldn’t be the first time they’d found their way together in public. And perhaps that thought strikes Steve just as it does Billy, for he pushes back into him, rubbing his soft ass against where he finds a slight bulge already.

“Fuck, Stevie…” Billy huffs and breathes against Steve’s neck, eyes closed as he relishes in the slow friction, kissing sloppy and half-minded against pale skin. “You really wanna do this here? Where the kids could just walk in any moment?”

“I would have maybe pushed you into a stall first,” Steve laughs, a slight stutter to it. “But I was thinking your car? The movie is like two hours, we could find an alley, park there, let me ride your cock?”

A growl escapes by the enchantment of those words, and Billy bites into Steve’s neck, earning him an illicit little hiss and smirk.

“How am I supposed to say no when you put it like that?”

-

Neither of them feel particularly bad for just abandoning the gang like that, but they’ll be quick, hidden in this alleyway, not too far away from the theatre, a bit of fun while the others gawk and gape at the magic of movies.

But it’s hard to be remorseful, when Steve is moaning like this, Billy two fingers deep in him in the driver's seat of the camaro.

Steve didn't lie about going commando today; told Billy, “When I found out you were tagging along, I hoped I’d get to have you alone like this.”

It took Steve less than two seconds to start getting undressed when Billy turned off the engine, whereafter he crawled right onto his lap, hard and bottomless, knees over Billy’s shoulders, feet locked behind the headrest, back against the steering wheel. 

“Ah-h, mmh, fuck, Billy-” he whines, hands placed firm on Billy’s legs for support as he lifts and angles his ass to allow Billy access with lubed up fingers.

His other hand squeezes Steve’s leaking prick, using the precum to slick up the flesh, keeping him hard and crying like that. His own lonesome cock aches where it lies full against his stomach; the button down having been opened completely to avoid staining it, and giving Steve something to admire.

“Billy, please, just- oh- just fuck me already!” Steve’s voice pitched high with lust and impatience, brows drawn together, his arms shaking underneath his own weight.

“Just don’t wanna hurt you, baby,” Billy purrs.

He watches with great interest as he pumps two fingers in and out of Steve’s wet hole, making a scissoring motion to stretch him properly.

“Mmh, we don’t exactly have time for that, and I need you so bad,” Steve says with the sweetest, most alluring tone he can.

And God if that doesn’t go straight to Billy’s twitching dick.

“You sure?” He wants to double check anyways.

“Yes- yes! Just- get a condom, I don’t wanna ruin my favourite pants.”

Billy chuckles lightly at that thought as he leans to reach for the glovebox, absolutely turned on by the idea of Steve walking around brimming with him, his cum dripping out and running down his thighs. Perhaps another time.

The condom rolls on with ease, Billy having become quite the expert with one through time, but he has been getting a lot of practice lately what with Steve and his more adventurous side, and wearing a rubber when fucking in public makes for an easy and quick cleanup. He gives himself a few good strokes to lube up good and nice, ensuring that Steve gets a smooth ride as he aligns himself with the hole that flutters eagerly to suck him in.

Greedy, starved, zealous, Steve sits himself on that veiny dick, ass fully flush with Billy’s hips, breathlessly gasping and cursing around his name, “Fuck Billy…”

“Mmmh,” Billy hums and licks his lips, staring down with adoration at how he’s buried deep inside of Steve’s ass, tight with lack of preparation, but- “You feel so good baby, taking my cock so well.”

He brings his hands to grab Steve by the hips and guide him in a circular motion, muscles clenching around him that can only be described as beautiful, eliciting groans and causing him to dig in his nails.

Steve’s panting, bangs sticking to his forehead from sweat, the windows fogged up, telling anyone that would walk by exactly what was going on, and when he lifts up to fuck himself on Billy’s fat erection, they shake the entire car with his fervor; each time he sinks down he moans more; moans with less and less self control.

“Take off your shirt, pretty boy,” Billy drawls out and swipes his tongue across shiny and sharp teeth. “Wanna see you.”

It’s a hurried motion that takes less than three seconds for Steve to yank off the crop top and grab on to Billy’s knees again, refusing to wait even one moment in the haze of his neediness. 

Billy, however, faced with marks of his own making, takes time to appreciate how perfectly purple suits Steve’s pale skin, blooming across his pecs, his tits, near nipples that strut now, begging to be touched. And who is he not to oblige. Hands travel up from hips, past the waist, to Steve’s chest - the brunette seemingly lost in chasing his own high, that he doesn’t notice where Billy is going till he presses hard against the sensitive buds.

“A-ah! Fuck, Billy!” And he throws his head back.

Steve’s entire body tenses at that, each muscle flexing and twitching, contracting around Billy’s steely cock, and he can’t help himself but to thrust into the clenching hole, the rim taking a chokehold on the base of his prick. Steve has to bring up a hand against the roof of the car to keep himself from hitting his head, while also giving him the ideal leverage to push down hard, bodies colliding, skin slapping together in a lascivious and erotic rhythm.

“God, you’re such a little slut for my cock, huh baby?” Billy growls like a ravenous wolf as he pounds into Steve, forcing out every little cry and moan, telling him that he’s hitting just the right spot.

“Billy- Billy, ah-a, fuck- fuck-” Steve whimpers and looks down to watch one hand on his hip that pulls him down, another rubbing hard against his nipple. 

“Yeah, harrh, listen to yourself,” and Billy pauses to listen to how Steve mewls, revelling in the fact that he’s the cause of that. “So loud and lewd, baby, calling out my name like that.”

“Billy.”

He’s a confident guy, Keg King and lady killer, and while shit like emotions and feelings stuns him, this brings him alive, lust coiling in his gut, burning hot and white, ramping up to a fever pitch as he fucks with wild abandon into Steve’s wet cunt.

Billy hasn’t bothered masturbating in a good while, no, he saves all of that pent up energy for Steve, to fill him up; desire blinding him to anyone else but his princess.

“Mmhnn- ahh, fuck, Stevie, can’t wait to get you alone tonight,” he says, voice fucked out and perverted, Steve looking at him as he speaks, “Drop off all the little shits and then fuck you into your mattress till you’re a mess, pump you full of my cum.”

Steve’s eyes screws shut tight, mouth wide open as he moans, “Yes, oh God, Billy-”

“Yeah? You want that?”

“Yes! Please! Fuck-” He nods the best he can, hair bouncing.

“You’re such a good little whore for me, princess, so needy for my cock.”

“Billy- Billy please,” Steve croons, all pathetic and close.

“Anything,” Billy responds with fast devotion, a promise that he gladly lives up to, knowing well what it is Steve is begging for, wants to hear him say it anyways.

“Touch me, please, ah-h- I’m so so close, fuck…”

Billy grins wide, so self satisfied it’s nearly disgusting, and he closes his fingers firm around Steve’s slick erection; he gets so fucking wet, leaking profusely, swears it only happens when he’s with Billy like this.

“Just like that, yes! Oh fuck, I’m- ah-”

“Yeah, cum for me baby, wanna watch you- show me what I do to you.”

Billy jerks him off quick and crude, knows how Steve likes it, how he needs it; loves being manhandled, talks about that whenever he’s with Billy he feels small and light.

And Steve cums with a loud and unadulterated moan, stilling his entire body in a tense pose as Billy fucks him fast; slamming quickly against his prostate, hand milking him good till he’s emptied out on his own chest.

It is a glorious thing to watch, a masterpiece of performance only for him, a grand show for a one man audience that Billy gets to relive again and again and again. Steve’s jaw drops as he continues to cry out like he’s a goddamn porn star, overstimulated and loving it.

Billy’s own orgasm is far less showy; a few shallow, brutish thrusts, grunting through gritted teeth, he shoves Steve down onto him hard as his hips stutter through completion, waves of impossible heat pouring out and leaving him a puddle of bliss and euphoria.

Time is lost to them, as they sit like that; Steve’s one leg having fallen between the seats as he went limp with exhaustion, still firmly planted in Billy’s lap, who’s soft and complacent and fucking tired, both of them breathing heavy.

“We should… we should go back…” Steve mumbles with closed eyes.

Billy’s watching the way Steve’s cum slowly slips down his chest, running over his abs and nearing his pubic hair.

“Do we have to?” he eventually manages to ask.

And Steve chuckles at that, the vibrations through his body clenching around Billy’s spent cock and he can’t help the sore “ooh”s and “ahh”s as he tries to pull away from it.

“Sadly we do. Can’t have the kids walk home alone in the dark, besides…” Steve grinds his ass onto Billy’s lap, making him wince in not quite pain, not quite pleasure, but definitely too much. “Think you promised to… fuck me into my mattress?”

[alloftheimagines]

billy hargrove | heaven-sent | part five

masterlist | series | part four

words: 2k+

warnings: st2 spoilers, violence, hints towards domestic abuse, drinking, smoking, swearing, arguing

disclaimer: i in no way support the actions of billy. i just find his character interesting and want to explore it more with my oc. takes place from season 2. OC is hopper’s daughter. first part taken from the ‘will the wise’ ep.

summary:  she’s an angel. he may as well be the devil. one would not exist without the other.

Frances hears her father's shouts before the cabin is even in view. Without thinking twice, she sets off in a run, twigs snapping beneath her feet as she dodges the trip wire. She clutches her camera firmly in her hands to prevent it slapping against her stomach, wind rushing past her as she speeds up.

"You're like Papa!" she hears El scream as she gets closer, and dread causes her heart to drop. She knows her father, knows he won't take well to a comment like that. She can't hear her father's reply, only El shouting a few moments later, "I hate you!"

"... I'm not too crazy about you, either!" Hopper responds.

"Shit," Frances mutters, slowing down to catch her breath. She closes her eyes and inhales, blocking the screams out for a moment before she finally enters the cabin. Neither Hopper nor El notice her despite the creak of the wooden door, too busy screaming at one another.

"Brat," Hopper says, throwing a book at El. El raises a hand to stop it, suspending it in mid-air as blood trickles from her nose. She tosses it back at him forcefully, hitting him in the stomach.

"Hey!" he exclaims in bewilderment, his eyes wide as he looks at El.

"Stop it!" Frances interrupts, finally gaining their attention as she stands between the two of them, her hands held up in caution. "What the hell is going on?"

El ignores her, marching off. Hopper trails behind her, passing Frances without acknowledgement. "Don't you dare walk away from me, kid."

The couch is shoved into his shin by an invisible force and he trips. "Hey!"

The last Frances sees of El before she slams her door shut without touching it is her eyes blazing with anger. "El!" Frances pleads, but it's too late.

"Open the damn door!" Hopper yells, banging on the wood forcefully. "You wanna go out in the world? You better grow up. Grow the hell up!"

A scream erupts from the bedroom, and without warning, the window panes shatter in their frames, shards of glass flying into the cabin. Frances is unable to duck in time and a small piece of glass scratches her cheek. She barely feels the sting, though she can feel the dampness as blood begins to ooze from the wound, and presses her hand to her face in shock. Hopper curses, kicking the wall with his heavy boot before running his hands over his face.

"What the hell happened?" Frances questions when she is able to form a coherent sentence.

"The damn kid went to see Mike today," Hopper sighed, his eyes softening when he sees that Frances is hurt. "Jesus Christ, are you alright?" He's on her in a second, pulling her hands away from the cut so that he can inspect it.

"I'm fine. It's just a scratch." She struggles out of his grip, glass crunching beneath her shoes as she heads to the kitchen and grabs a towel to stop the bleeding. "Look, I know you're just looking out for her, but you need to go easy on her. She's just a kid, and she can't see her friends. Imagine how that must feel."

"Did you miss the part where she blew out the fuckin' windows?" He pointed to the now empty frames dramatically. "What if that glass had hit your eye?"

"It didn't," Frances sighs. "I'll talk to her, okay?"

"No," he shakes his head, rubbing his stubbly chin in frustration. "Let her cool down first. She's ... dangerous."

"She's not dangerous," Frances replies. "She's afraid and alone. She doesn't understand that you're keeping her safe. Just let me try."

Hopper motions to the door dismissively. "Fine, you think you can handle her, Mary Poppins? Be my guest."

Frances treads back to El's door, knocking gently. "El, it's just me," she calls when the door doesn't budge. "I understand why you're mad and afraid. Why don't we talk about it?"

"Go away," El demands after a moment, her voice muffled.

"El, please—"

"Go. Away!"

There's enough power in El's voice for Frances to know that she isn't helping matters and if she pushes her anymore, the cabin might come down in a heap of ash and rubble. She turns to her father, disappointment in her eyes. He shrugs, planting himself on the couch despite the fact that it's no longer in its usual spot. "I told you. She's impossible."

"Cut her some slack. She's been through a lot."

"Yeah, well, haven't we all?" he huffs, sadness flickering over his features. By the time he looks up again, it's gone. "Listen, I'll handle this. You're better off staying in the trailer tonight."

"You sure? I don't mind staying."

"No. You don't need to deal with this. Go home."

Frances nods, placing a hand on her father's shoulder as he puts his head in his hands. "You're doing your best. I know this isn't easy."

He places his hand over hers, rubbing her hand with the pad of his thumb. "Thanks, kid."

She flashes one last, solemn look at the door before making a move to go. Her father's voice stops her. "Hey, Fran. You okay? You look a little pale." He's turned around in his chair, his blue eyes flooding with concern. His cheeks are flushed with the remnants of his rage.

"Yeah," she lies. "Just tired, I guess."

"Look, I know I haven't been all that available recently and we haven't spent much time together. That doesn't mean you can't talk to me. I'm still your old man. I still care about you more than anything else. You know that, don't you?"

"I know that, Dad." She hesitates, worrying at her lip as he waits expectantly. "Jonathan and I broke up."

"Sweetie—"

"No, it's okay. It was a long time coming," she says quickly. "You sure you don't want me to try again with El?"

He looks at Fran and then at El's closed door.

"No. Better give her some space tonight. Go home, kid. Get some rest. Enjoy the peace."

* * *

Frances doesn't head home right away, instead following the overgrown trail to the ravine. She takes a few pictures as she goes, finding solace in the click of her camera, the repetitive action of winding back the film. Shadows loiter in her peripheral vision as the sun begins to set, and she tries to ignore them, ignore the feeling of something encroaching in on her. She's relieved when she gets to the open road, but only for a moment. For the second time this week, she has company. Billy leans against the hood of his car, his back turned towards her as he watches the sun go down. She can just make out the orange glow of a cigarette in his mouth.

Instinctively, her hands find her camera and she captures the view, the soft silhouette of the golden-tinged boy in front of the bleeding, pink sky. The sound of her shutter clicking alerts him of her presence, and she smiles guiltily at being caught. "You mind?"

He shrugs, smirking, though it doesn't quite meet his eyes. "I always knew I was your muse."

She shakes her head at his arrogance, deciding to play along as she crosses the road and meets him by his car. "Well, it's only right since you got it back for me."

He doesn't react, taking a drag of his cigarette. His eyes are focused on the view in front of him. Frances frowns as she realises that they're gleaming with moisture and red-rimmed as though he's been crying. His long, thick eyelashes are moist, too, against the fading sunlight, his lips pink and raw as though he's been chewing them. Atop his cheekbone sits a purple bruise that she knows wasn't there earlier.

"Are you alright?" she questions carefully. His shirt is buttoned up wrong, the cuffs of his denim jacket unrolled and covering half of his hands. His knuckles aren't bruised – if he was hit, it was one-sided.

"Peachy," he responds, smoke rolling from his mouth. He offers her a cigarette, looking at her for the first time and faltering. She's forgotten the cut on her own cheek, but she feels the sting of it now as if for the first time. "Are you?"

"Peachy," she repeats, a soft smile on her lips. "No, thanks," she says to the cigarette.

Billy shuffles down slightly so that there's room for Frances on the hood. She leans onto it, glad to take the weight off her feet, her eyes watering against the cold breeze.

"You come up here a lot?" he asks, words muffled by the cigarette. Up close, she can smell a slight hint of alcohol on his breath and realises that there's a bottle of whisky planted on the other side of him. He's not drunk, though, not yet.

"Best place to watch the sunset," she shrugs. "I used to think of this place as my little secret. Guess I'm gonna have to find somewhere else now."

"My company that bad?" His voice is hoarse, as though he's been shouting. Frances can't help but look at him again with concern, and he can't help but refuse to return her gaze.

"Billy, what happened?" she whispers delicately.

"Nothin' you need to concern yourself with, angel. Why? You worried?"

"Wouldn't go that far."

"Please," he grins, "it's cute."

"Shut up," she scoffs, pulling her jacket closer to her torso as the wind picks up again. The valley below is dotted with amber and gold leaves that gleam against the sunset. The dead leaves blow around them, rustling. She takes a deep breath in, her soul soothed for the first time in days. She thinks that perhaps he feels it, too, because for a while neither of them say a word, and neither of them need to. The silence is like a blanket, comforting and warm, safe.

Of course, Billy is the one to break it as he stubs out his cigarette with his boot and shoves his hands into his pockets. "So, you talk to your boyfriend yet?"

"Nope," she sighs. "He's too busy with Nancy."

"Dick," he curses, shaking his head. His tangled, blonde curls ruffle as he does.

"Yeah."

"How long were the two a' you together?"

She exhales, ignoring the lump in her throat. "Two years. Before that we were best friends."

His eyebrows arch in surprise. "Jesus."

"It's not just his fault. I can't pretend like he's a terrible person for doing this to me," she says, and this time she's the one who is unable to meet Billy's eyes. "I've been distant. I basically pushed him right into her. If you don't give a guy what he wants, he's gonna find it somewhere else, right?"

"Doesn't matter what you did, Fran." It's the first time he's called her that, and she likes the way her shortened name rolls on his tongue like honey. "Doesn't give him an excuse to chase after another girl and leave you drunk at a party."

"I wasn't that drunk."

He chuckles. "You weren't sober, either."

Her cheeks flush with colour, and she smiles. "Better he didn't see me like that, anyways. He always hated the way I was when I got drunk."

"Like I said," he rolls his eyes, "Dick." Billy takes a swig straight out of the whiskey bottle before offering it to Frances. "I for one don't give a shit. You wanna go for round two?"

"No, thanks." The sun seems to disappear behind the horizon all at once, and she shivers in the grey twilight. "And neither should you if you're driving. I gotta go."

"I can drive you," he offers, twisting the lid back on the bottle and pulling his car keys from his pockets. "That is, if you're not gonna bite my head off for offering."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to. Feel like a drive, anyway."

Frances sighs, hesitant. He's already holding the door open for her, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. She can still make out the sadness lying just beneath his expression, though, muted and dull, but there.

"Alright," she agrees finally, sliding into the passenger's seat. The leather is cold against her legs. "But only 'cos I'm freezing out here."

"Yeah, yeah," he retorts. "Keep tellin' yourself that, angel."  

part six

[fanficshiddles]

Raindrops, One shot

Thank you for the prompt. I hope you like it! Honestly my poor heart hurt so much writing this. I changed it very slightly, hope that’s alright.

toshisurtsdottir submitted:

Imagine Loki faked his death in Infinity war. Oc, his girlfriend, has witnessed his horrible death and after Thanos left, she took his cape to have something to remember him. Years later, the avengers beat Thanos in endgame etc. Years Pass by (Maybe even centuries if oc is a goddess) and One day oc finds a homeless Black cat on the streets. She takes it in and takes care of it. Its Loki, trying to See if his old love still remembers him and would be happy to See him again. One day, something is different. Oc has been crying all day and cuddling up in an old, dirty blanket with holes in it. Under further inspection, Loki realises that this is his cape from when He was “murdered” by Thanos. When oc goes to bed to sleep, she takes his cape with her, wrapping herself in it. Loki takes the opportunity and shifts back into his old self. He gets into the bed and gently wraps her arms around her “im here. Its okay. Im sorry.”

 Naomi had her hood up and was trying to shield her face from the rain as it battered down against her.

The rain always reminded her of Loki…

How they would always go out and dance in the heavy rain, laughing so carefree. Kissing one another while they got soaked. It was refreshing and made you feel so alive. There was nothing like it.

But now, she hated it.

She held back the tears that stung at her eyes while she tried not to think about it. About when she saw her love, Loki, being choked to death by the purple grape bastard.

Even though part of her hoped that Loki was still alive in an alternative Universe, after The Avengers had went back in time to stop Thanos. But in this reality, he wasn’t here with her. And it completely broke her heart.

It had been eight years since that godawful day.

While most people had moved on with their lives, Naomi couldn’t. Loki had truly been the love of her life. They understood one another like no one else could. He was her heart, and now he was gone. And he still was.

She was rushing down the street, she almost passed by the faint meow from down an alleyway. But for some reason, her feet stopped moving and she turned to look.

In the distance she could just make out a black cat, hiding between two bins. His green eyes shining, even in the horrible, dull weather.

No one else stopped, they carried on by. Their day too busy to stop or even care about the cat that was clearly alone and afraid.

Naomi went down the alley towards the cat. She expected the poor thing to run, but instead he walked out towards her and started purring as he brushed against her legs.

She crouched down and patted him. Even wet, his fur was soft.

‘Are you lost?’ She asked softly.

The cat looked up at her, as if understanding her. He meowed and headbutted her hand, wanting more attention.

‘I can’t leave you out here. There’s going to be a thunderstorm soon… Come on, you can come home with me.’ She scooped up the cat and managed to get him under her jacket for some shelter.

The cat happily snuggled up in her arms while she continued on home. It wasn’t far, and when she got inside, she was relieved that she had remembered to turn the heating right up before she went out.

She put the cat down in the kitchen and got some chicken from the fridge for him.

‘I will need to go shopping tomorrow to get supplies for you. I don’t really have anything for a cat.’ She said sheepishly while the cat ate the chicken.

She crouched down and rubbed his head, smiling when he started purring again.

Naomi made a make-shift litter tray with newspaper on the bottom, and just hoped he would use it if needed.

She then spent the evening brushing his fur, and he seemed to enjoy it because he never stopped purring the whole time. He even rolled over onto his back to let her brush his tummy, which was rare for cats.

It was still bucketing down outside, it hadn’t rained this hard and for this length of time in a while. And it just kept making Naomi think of Loki more and more. She wasn’t sure why, but having the cat here too was making her think of him more. It was the eyes, and his fur was jet black just like Loki’s hair.

While she was petting the cat, a tear rolled down her cheek. The cat looked at her and head bumped her cheek, making her smile a little.

She went to her bedroom and returned not long later in her nightie and she had a faded green cape with her. When she sat down again to watch more TV, the cat jumped up on the sofa and slowly crept towards her, curiously looking at the garment in her hands.

The cat sniffed at the cape and looked right into Naomi’s eyes, then let out a soft meow. She broke down again, crying buckets of tears while she held the cape close to her face.

‘Sorry, kitty… If you want to live with me, you’ll have to get used to me being all emotional I’m afraid.’ She sniffled and wiped her eyes.

The cat just looked at her, with a look she couldn’t really place. But she gave him a scratch under the chin then decided to go to bed. She took the cape with her, the cat followed behind but sat in the doorway to her bedroom. Just watching her for a moment.

Naomi looked over at the balcony in her bedroom. She wasn’t sure why, but she decided to go out into the rain. Hoping she would perhaps feel close to Loki again. She was really hurting tonight.

Wrapping his cape around her, she stepped out onto the balcony and let the raindrops hit her. She looked up at the sky and closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the rain splashing upon her face.

It had been so long since she last enjoyed the rain… not since he...

More tears escaped from her eyes and slid down her face, along with the rain. But then suddenly, she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her body. And a firm, yet warm body gently pressed against her back.

A warm breath upon her neck tickled her skin. ‘I’m here… It’s ok. I’m so sorry, my sweet dove.’

Naomi couldn’t believe it. Her heart was thumping against her chest as more tears fell from her face. She held her breath, scared in-case it was a dream. But the body against her felt so real…

She turned around in the arms, but didn’t open her eyes. Too scared to do so.

‘It’s me, Naomi. Open your eyes, my sweetling.’ The voice said softly as warm hands cupped her face.

She opened her eyes and let out a sob as she covered her mouth. It was him. It was really him.

‘Loki.’ She choked out and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

Loki started crying with her. He held her so tight while the rain continued to soak them. Lightning lit up the sky and thunder shook the buildings. But neither of them cared.

They were back where they belonged. In one another’s arms.

And they were never letting each other go again.

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicMas Redux: NYE Edition

STL Alice is being a reluctant brat in telling me what she wants to say, so instead of a surprise chapter, I bring you... more of The Unexpected Second Life of Mary Alice Brandon: Magnolia. This is the official end of FicMas until I decide that the thing the world needs is some ridiculous lead up to Valentine’s Day with 12 variations on Alice and Jasper being cute. 

So, onwards my dears, and I hope everyone has a happy and safe NYE. 

(Alice has met the Cullens, had a very Pro-Jasper vision, and bailed poor Jasper up in public to try awkwardly flirting with him. Rosalie tells Alice to fuck right off leave Jasper alone, and Alice is feeling very sorry for herself, especially since her new stepsister Ellie has told everyone at Forks High that Alice was in a mental institution, and has a pretty strained relationship with her mother and sister.

Anyone who might have read Memento Mori can probably recognize aspects that I later used for it, and will probably be changed for the final posted version as recent read-throughs have agitated the Editing Badger that lives in my brain.)

Halloween was fast upon us, and everyone else seemed excited for the dance - it was already the only thing that anyone talked about. Not that many people were talking to me at school – Ellie’s rumour spreading had made me the subject of a lot of gossip, but no overtures of friendship.

And I hated Halloween.

My previous Halloween had consisted of watery green cordial in paper cups, cupcakes with chalky orange icing and a sad pair of cardboard wings I'd made in art therapy. Trick or treating at various doctors' offices and the nurses station had been compulsory and the ‘treats’ had consisted of sugar-free candy or fruit that most of us left to rot in the day room.

Forks kids seemed really psyched about it. The school was decorated in green and purple streamers, with cardboard bats and twine spider webs. Cynthia was having a Halloween Costume Parade at the middle school. Every food outlet in town had Halloween specials, and even the gas station was selling costumes.

I couldn't bring myself to care about costumes or anything else. Ellie was planning on going as Marilyn Monroe, and Cynthia was going as Dorothy, bouncing off the walls in excitement over the red-sequin shoes she had made herself.

Forks High had a costume contest that involved free movie tickets or something, and it was clearly a big deal, from the plans I overheard. I had absolutely no intention of dressing up, not so much as a pair of orange socks.

It was only when mom got annoyed at me that I dug out an old, long-sleeved leotard and a frilly skirt. Paired with leggings and flats and a sleek bun, I looked like a pretty half-assed ballerina, but it passed Mom's scrutiny. I had, of course, attempted just to leave the house in PJs, but had been marched back up to my room.

With my hoodie zipped up, I didn’t look like I was in costume at all. However, everyone else definitely was – even the Cullens had managed to get in on the act. Rosalie was a gorgeous flapper, her hair pinned up elaborately to look like pin curls; the biggest Cullen who was Rosalie’s boyfriend made a convincing if friendly-looking gangster. Edward and his dark-haired girlfriend were hippies, complete with an elaborately painted guitar and flower crown.

Jasper looked about as enthused about the holiday as I was, with a cowboy hat and boots.

The teachers were handing out candy and snacks – my Lit teacher had actually made mini-cupcakes for every single one of her students, complete with little candy pumpkins. The cafeteria provided bat-shaped cookies and disgusting pumpkin-flavoured mains, which meant my lunch ended up being a cookie and a soda, and the candy from my morning classes.

I wasn’t expecting to open my locker that afternoon to find a small pile of candy and two of Ms Lowe’s mini-cupcakes on a napkin. Who even had my locker combination? Was this some ill-planned attempt to make me feel better from the administration?

Candy was candy, and I popped the cupcakes into my mouth as I pulled my books out and crammed them into my shoulder bag. I had a headache coming on, no doubt from the amount of sugar I had consumed and my tight hairdo. Yanking the pins and hairnet out, I let my hair tumble around my face in loose waves.

It was only when I shut my locker and turned around, I saw Jasper Hale watching me from the end of the hallway, an utterly inscrutable look on his face.

I popped a piece of gum in my mouth and walked out, pulling my hood over my head to avoid the ever-present drizzle. Another wet walk home, to hand out candy all evening – both Ellie and Cyn had Halloween dances at school, and Mom and Craig were chaperoning for Cyn’s school.  

//

As I walked across the cafeteria towards my usual corner table, I felt my vision blur and darken, and the last thing I was aware of was the sound my tray made as it fell from my hands.

Blood pooling in the snow, a house of mirrors. Feet – my feet, my old boots – running through the forest. Cold, blue lips, my father’s dead eyes as he stared at me from the seat next to me, blood everywhere, black and red and warm… My own strangled screams, and the bitter taste of powdery pills on the back of my tongue, leaving me feeling dull and clumsy. My hoarse calls. Myself screaming as the ECT went terribly wrong.

I came back with a gasp to find myself standing in the middle of the cafeteria, my tray at my feet, and people were whispering, giggling. My vision was still swimming, and I couldn’t get myself to move; I was worried I would trip or faint. I could still see myself running in the snow, smell and taste the blood.

And then there was someone at my elbow, murmuring in my ear. I heard nothing as they guided me, my legs feeling gelatinous. I was gently, carefully helped onto a seat and when I blinked I was looking at Edward Cullen, who was beside me looking concerned.

“Alice, are you okay?” he asked in a low voice.

I swallowed hard, and just nodded my head. It was pounding, but reality was fitting itself back together slowly. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes again for a second.

“Alice,” the dark-haired Bella was beside me, holding a paper cup. “I got you something to drink.”

“Thank you,” I croaked, taking the paper cup. As I sipped, I realised the rest of the Cullens were at the table – the big one was staring at me curiously, Jasper was pointedly ignoring me, and Rosalie was giving me a death look.

I set the cup down on the table. “Thank you for helping,” I said simply to Edward. I knew where I wasn’t welcome, and I wasn’t going to be a verbal punching bag for Rosalie twice in one week. I could get something out of the vending machine in the doorway and hide in the library again.

“Do you need to go to the nurse?” Bella asked kindly.

“No, I’m fine now. It happens,” I offered her a smile that was far too brittle to be convincing, and stood up carefully. My balance was still slightly off but it would be enough to get me away.

“Please, sit with us for a while,” Edward said, shuffling along. Rosalie sneered at me.  “Ignore her, she’s naturally unpleasant. Stay, please.”

I knew that I probably wouldn’t make it across the cafeteria without stumbling like a drunken toddler. I also knew that Rosalie was probably one lunch break away from dumping me in a shallow grave.

But I took the seat again.

Rosalie’s gaze landed on my wrist, where my hospital band had fallen loose of my sleeve.

“What is it?” she asked, nodding at it. “A hospital band?”

I found myself almost cowering at her words, shrinking back as I slid the band back under my sleeve.

“Yes,” I said quietly. “You’ve probably heard the rumours.”

“We don’t exactly keep abreast of the Forks High rumour mill,” she sniffed as if I had told her to eat out of the garbage.

“Why should we? We are the rumours,” the big guy grinned and Rose, Edward and Bella all collectively rolled their eyes.

“What were you in for?”

Jasper. Rose scowled at me, and then him, and then refocused her ire on me. I was done. This was uncomfortable and weird and if I had wanted to be somewhere with people who didn’t want me, well, I had a lot of choices.

“I’m the crazy one,” I said and stood up. “Thanks, again.”

I felt their eyes on me as I walked away, and didn’t even bother to stop for lunch. I just headed to the library.

[prince-claremont-diaz]

Whatever We Become

Summary: In Lucas’ final year of high school before he has to face the real world, he comes across the new identical twins, Eliott and Leo. Needless to say, Lucas falls head over heels for both of them. 

Or The twin au absolutely no one asked for

Word Count: 2k

Ao3 version

Chapter Sixteen: We’re all here for you 

For the rest of the weekend, Lucas spent most of his time in bed, only occasionally getting up for food or the toilet. After getting home at almost midnight, after wandering around the city aimlessly for hours, he had done a poor job of cleaning and wrapping up his hand and then retreated to his bedroom for the rest of the night. He adamantly ignored his roommates' concerned questioning from the other side of the door, instead choosing to stay wrapped up in his duvet.

On Saturday evening, on his way back from the toilet again, Lucas noticed a piece of black fabric sticking out from under his shelf full of books, leaning down with knitted eyebrows as he lifted it up. As though burnt, he dropped it on the ground as he realised what it was; Eliott's hoodie.

Despite his best efforts to just ignore it, Lucas ended up wearing the hoodie for the rest of the weekend. It swallowed him whole, the sleeves going past his hands and the hem falling to mid thigh, allowing him to curl up in a tiny ball. He could smell Eliott every time he breathed in, filling his lungs with the familiar scent of cologne, a bit of smoke and something chocolatey.

At 2 in the morning on Monday, as Lucas curled up in the corner of his bed with Eliott's hood covering his head, Manon's voice filtered in through the bedroom door, accompanied by a hesitant knock. "Lucas?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Before he could protest, the door creaked open and Manon stepped inside. She clicked the door shut behind her, leaning against the wall and looking at Lucas tucked into the corner.

"Manon, I don't wanna talk about it, okay?"

Manon shook her head, stepping closer to the bed. She had unmistakable tear tracks on her cheeks and in the low light of his table lamp, Lucas could see her eyes sparkling from unshed tears.

"Me neither," she replied in a whisper, "Can I maybe just… sit here for a while?" Lucas nodded, pulling aside his covers to allow her to climb in next to him. Wordlessly, she settled with her head on his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her. She sniffled, wiping away a tear from her cheek.

They stayed like that for a while, sitting together in comfortable and mutually melancholic silence. Despite the constant sinking feeling in his chest since Eliott's disappearance, Lucas felt a sort of solace like this, easily wrapped up with a close friend in quiet affection and empathy.

After a while, Manon finally spoke up, sitting up a little and looking down at the bed. "Lucas… your hand. What happened?" she asked. Lucas followed her gaze, suddenly remembering his poor hand.

"I thought we weren't talking about it."

"But you're hurt," Manon insisted, sitting up fully and trying to take his hand, "That looks really painful, Lucas."

Lucas pulled his hand away, as if her skin were made of fire. Manon gave him a look, shoulders slumping, a pleading look in her eyes. Lucas softened, taking a deep breath. Who was he to try to defy her motherly instincts? "The other night… after something happened, I was upset and took it out on a wall," he explained vaguely, fiddling with the corner of the gauze.

"Oh, Lucas." Manon delicately held his hand, inspecting the bandages up close, turning his hand over and around. "You want me to help bandage it properly? No more questions asked," she suggested, a tiny smile perking up in the corner of her lips. Lucas nodded quietly and then they clambered out of bed and out into the hall.

Once the bandage, which was covered in dark, dried blood, was off, Manon winced at the sight. Even Lucas had a double take. All of his knuckles were red and raw, bruised at the edges, skin slightly torn to reveal raw pink. His fingers were badly scraped up as well, painted with the ugly black and blue of his bruising. "Can you move your fingers?" Manon asked, looking away from his hand and up at Lucas. Carefully, Lucas was able to open and close his hand and fingers. Though it ached, he didn't feel anything out of place. "I don't think anything's broken, nothing's swollen and you can move them." Lucas nodded again.

Manon pulled the first aid kit out from behind the mirror and properly cleaned and used antiseptic on all the many cuts and gashes. Lucas hissed at the burning of the antiseptic but stayed otherwise silent as he let her fix him. Once that was finished, she moved on to wrapping the cuts with more bandages.

"Charles dumped me," she blurted after a few minutes, almost finished wrapping his hand up, "On Friday." She finished, letting go of his hand and leaning against the sink.

Lucas frowned deeper, heart sinking. He knew how Manon felt about Charles. Sure, Lucas always thought he was a bit of a prick, but when he made his friend happy, Lucas didn't care. But now. Now Lucas was having to hug her as she cried into his shoulder at 3 am in their bathroom because of him.

"Let's just go to bed," Lucas suggested once she had calmed down somewhat, reduced to just sniffles.

Manon nodded and without another word, a silent agreement between the two of them, they both went to sleep in Lucas' room.

◇

Lucas walked into school that morning like a dead man. He didn't bother fixing his hair or eating breakfast, only changing into a different hoodie besides Eliott's. His feet scuffed the pavement, ankles weighed down by invisible chains, hood pulled up, head down, running on only a couple hours of sleep. While Manon's presence had certainly helped somewhat, it had still been near impossible to get to sleep.

As he trudged into the courtyard, muttering a somber goodbye to Manon, he caught sight of Yann, Arthur and Basile standing in their usual spot, talking animatedly about something. Upon his entrance, the boys paused their conversation to greet him.

"Woah, hey, man. What the hell happened?" Yann asked once Lucas was close, glancing down at his bandaged hand and back at the deep purple bags under his eyes.

Lucas brushed his friend's comment away, swatting his uninjured hand dismissively. "It's nothing. Can we not talk about it?" His voice, which he had barely used all weekend since screaming for Eliott, came out harsh and scratchy and surprisingly bitter. He cleared his throat.

"You sure? We're always here for you. You know that," Arthur said, grabbing one of Lucas' shoulders comfortingly, a sympathetic smile on his face. Lucas shook his head. "Okay, man, that's okay. But we're still here if you change your mind," he added, ruffling Lucas' hair under the hood.

The bell for classes rang through the courtyard and Arthur, Yann and Lucas started to make their way into the building. Basile, however, stayed back. "Aren't we gonna wait for Eliott?" he asked, holding his arms up as if to say "Duh."

"I don't think he'll be coming, Bas," Lucas said bitterly, already starting towards the school once again.

The other four followed him towards the building and then Lucas and Arthur split off together to head towards Chemistry. "You sure you don't wanna talk about it? I'm all ears," Arthur said as they made their way down the science corridor together, pushing past others trying to get to class.

"Yes, Arthur. Just leave it," he snapped, scowling at his friend. "Please." He looked pleadingly at his friend.

"Okay," Arthur replied. After a beat, "Do you wanna hear about my weekend then? My mum said the most outrageous thing at dinner on Saturday…" And without any further mention of Lucas' issues, Arthur easily slipped into a usual rant about his mother.

After trying to write notes using his injured hand, Lucas was already starting to feel the extent of his injuries. Each time he gripped his pen too hard, his whole hand ached horribly, making him wince. Initially, Arthur stayed silent, watching him write through the pain without any comment.

But eventually, when the pain was too overbearing, making him clench his jaw and tears prick in his eyes, Arthur nudged his elbow, leaning closer. "I know you said to leave it, but that looks really painful. What happened?" Arthur asked, eyes pleading and concerned.

"It's so fucked up, Arthur."

"Okay, one second," Arthur said and then he was raising his hand. "Lucas' hand hurts, can I take him to the nurse?" Arthur carefully lifted Lucas' wrist to show his bandaged hand to their teacher.

"And why do you need to go with him?"

Arthur shrugged. "What if the pain is too much and he faints in the hallway? Someone's gotta catch him." he replied nonchalantly. Lucas gaped at his friend.

Not ten seconds later, they were both out in the hallway together. "Come on," Arthur whispered, grabbing his wrist and pulling Lucas along the corridor. Lucas stumbled after him for a few minutes until they reached an empty classroom, which Arthur promptly tugged him inside and settled on top of one of the desks.

"Why did you do that?" Lucas asked, sitting down in front of Arthur on another desk and fiddling with a loose strand of his bandage.

"More privacy. Less writing for your poor hand, too," Arthur said, as if it was nothing. As if he hadn't just done one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for him. "Did something happen with Eliott, then?" Arthur prompted, gesturing to Lucas' hand.

Lucas nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. "It's so fucked up, Arthur, seriously," he replied, "We went on a date on Friday and he rented out this old theatre to watch some black and white movie just the two of us and it was… so good. It was wonderful…" Lucas trailed off, remembering how Eliott had looked in the faint glow of the screen, heart aching with the ghost of a memory.

"But he was acting sort of weird and jittery and going on about this crazy story about popcorn. Then he wanted to go for a walk even though the film wasn't over yet," he continued, heart picking up pace with a distant, constant worry. "He had a joint which we smoked as well while we walked, but then I sat down for a minute and I was distracted and he just...disappeared. I had no idea where he went and I had to call Leo." Lucas broke off, breathing heavily before he could finish. "Eliott had tried to jump off a bridge."

Arthur's eyes widened, eyebrows raising almost to his hair line. "Seriously?"

Lucas nodded again. "Leo came to the bridge and he yelled at me before he got a call that Eliott had been found," Lucas continued, voice hoarse and wobbly, "He told me Eliott's bipolar." Lucas finished his explanation with tears pricking his eyes, bitterness settling in his stomach along with butterflies flapping mercilessly in his gut.

"Fuck, Lucas," Arthur said, shaking his head in disbelief, "That must have been terrifying."

"It was. I had no idea where he went and he was talking about how we should die that night because we had peaked or something." Lucas lifted his bandaged hand weakly, looking at the raw skin of his fingers, which weren't covered by the bandage. "After Leo left, I punched a wall."

Arthur winced, screwing his eyes shut. "Do you… know if he's okay now? You said they found him, but if all that happened, I wouldn't be surprised if he was still feeling like shit," Arthur asked hesitantly.

Lucas scoffed. "Leo wouldn't even let me go with him to see him, so I don't fucking know," he remarked, a sour taste in his mouth, "All I know is that he's crazy."

"You know, I'm not an expert, but I'm guessing when Leo yelled at you, he was just scared for Eliott. If he's got an actual disorder, this sort of thing could have happened before, so he was probably just worried about that," Arthur pointed out, "I know for a fact that you sometimes snap at people when you're stressed or worried."

Lucas laughed bitterly. "Am I that awful of a friend?"

Arthur shook his head intently, slinging and arm around Lucas' shoulders and pulling him closer. "I'd say you're a pretty good friend even when you're a stressed out ball of anger," he replied with a light chuckle, "But really. Just give them both time."

"But Arthur, do I need to have two crazy people in my life? I don't know if I can handle that."

Arthur squeezed his shoulders, pulling away just slightly to look him in the eyes. "You like Eliott a lot, right?" he asked.

Lucas nodded. "More than I've ever liked anyone else. He was… he was special…"

"Then isn't he worth it?" he asked, pulling away to clamber off of the desk. "If you really like him more than anyone else, if he's really that special, I think it's worth it. He's definitely worth at least trying, I think." Arthur held onto Lucas' shoulders, holding onto his gaze. "Eliott's a good guy, Lucas. It's obvious he makes you happy, so I wouldn't let him go so easily just because it's hard." Lucas sniffled and only then did he notice his cheeks were wet.

"Do you really think I'm capable of that?" he asked faintly, cheeks flushed and damp. He glanced up at Arthur, pulling his lower lip in between his teeth.

"If you can tolerate Bas, I'm certain you can handle anything," Arthur joked, lightly pushing his shoulder. He frowned again. "But really, Lucas. You've got a whole lot of love to give and I think Eliott deserves to get some of that."

Lucas huffed a laughed, wiping his nose on his sleeve and blushing once again. "Thanks, Arthur," he muttered sincerely, shooting Arthur a small yet grateful smile.

"Anytime," Arthur replied, pulling Lucas to a standing position to give him a proper bear hug, squeezing him tightly. "Now we should probably go back to class before they realise we definitely aren't in the nurse's office." Arthur pulled away from the hug and together they walked back into the corridors and made their way back to class.

Lucas felt just a little bit lighter after that.

AN Sorry for the radio silence on this fic, I started taking another class and I have virtually no free time anymore. 

[floweryfandomnerd]

Invisible Wings - 5

Near where I live there's a wide river with an old stone bridge rising high over it. Running my hands along its sides results in moss and dirt covering my hands. At the top of the arch, above the keystone, I stop to stare down at the thrashing waters. They're a murky green colour with a swirling current that quickly moves bobbing driftwood down it. Fish, minnows I believe, swim just beneath its surface, heads occasionally breaking through before they duck underneath again. I climb atop the side of the shallow walls, holding tightly with both hands as I sit on it. I've often wondered what it would be like to sit in a little boat and float down it; where the current would take me if I let it. What kind of power is the water? Kicking my legs in the air, I imagine myself simply letting go and falling - then I push it away; that's not how I wanted to disappear. If I were to disappear it would be on the wings of a dove, I could fly far away from here to anywhere I wanted. Letting go would make my disappearance a matter of moments; my freedom, if I ever gain it, would be born of wings not water.

Pulling myself away from that whirlpool of thought, I climb back down onto the bridge. Feet once again steady, I resume my wandering. At the other side some ways down the road is the outdoor market, it stays open no matter the weather but today at least the shopkeepers won't be so grumpy. They enjoy the soft sunshine as much as I do - sun-showers are my favourite though; I love the rainbows that form overhead when rays of light shine through little raindrops.

I love the market's pretty little stalls too, even if some only sell strange second-hand items that they claim are antique - although normally they're not exactly in mint condition. Where they get said "antiques" is somewhat of a mystery to me. It's bustling there today, full of background noise and half-familiar faces doing their shopping. The first stall I pass sells flowers, I never buy any - I don't even have a vase to put them in - but I can never seem to help myself from stopping to stare at them.

The florist who sells them is an adept hand at arranging pretty bouquets. The old man must have been making them for a very long time. I wonder if he ever makes them based on the meanings of the flowers or whether he just makes them to look wonderful. I wouldn't know, I don't know their meaning myself. I tug my bag back up onto my shoulder, smiling up at him as I leave. He smiles back at me.

Among the hubbub of the market I'm a little lost, unsure of what I came for now that I'm here. There's a list in my pocket, groceries written on scrumpled up paper. I do my best to smooth out all the crinkles, the inky pen I wrote it in is smudged but still legible:

Five apples,

Five oranges,

Five bananas,

An ounce of grapes,

An ounce of strawberries,

Ten carrots,

Onions,

Three peppers.

It's a longer list than that but that's as far as I skim at first, it takes me a moment to find where I should buy them from.  When I locate it, one of my classmates is at the register, a customer passes a bunch of coins into his hand, he counts it carefully then places it in the machine. They also give him a flower, a red orchid bought from the other stall. He beams up at the customer as they walk away with their brown paper bag of fruit and veg. I'd forgotten that his dad ran the grocery stall. When they're gone, he stares at the flower - puzzled until I distract him. 

Waving at him, I walk up to him, "Hi Michael."

"Hey Kallima, what do you need?" His curly brown hair hides his eyes as he smiles, I half want to push it out of his face but he beats me to it.

I quietly hand him the list, he reads it and starts grabbing what's stated, shoving it carefully into a paper bag for me. When he's done he gives me back the list so that I can continue with my shopping after I pay. I carefully fit them into my shoulder bag.

"Thanks. See you then," I'm about to go buy sugar and flour, along with anything else still on the list when I hear him.

"Wait!"

I stop in my tracks, twisting around to look at him. He looks ready to say something before glancing away from me for a second. Whatever it is, he doesn't say it.

After a pause he finally makes up his mind, "Did we have homework for chemistry?"

I shake my head, "No," then turn back to shopping. I'd rather be home before the threatening grey clouds looming overhead become a steady downpour. It doesn't take particularly long for me to finish gathering what's on my list. Almost done, all I have left is my winter tradition of buying a handmade hat. Charlotte's grandmother makes them; her grandmother is a lovely old woman - she used to babysit me when I was particularly small. That was how I became friends with Charlotte, really.

She's working there today, boredom sitting quietly on her face. There's a million places she'd rather be, I'm sure. Instead of being there she's just daydreaming about them, letting her silky auburn hair blow into her eyes. Charlotte doesn't even notice me browsing the hats. I rifle through the piles, slightly unsatisfied. They're nice hats but so far none of them are that special one I find every year.

Re-folding the pile I messed up, I move onto the next one. A few hats down sits a light purple hat with a little white bird skillfully embroidered on the brim. It stands out to me so much that I choose it without a second glance at the rest. Charlotte jumps when I stand in front of her, dangling the hat in her face.

"Hey! You scared me!" She reaches over the counter to jab my sides, I dodge away but she still manages to poke her finger into my ribs. I squirm uncomfortably and she laughs. She knows poking makes my body do something weird - it's exactly why she does it.

I bat her fingers away, giggling as I do, "Stop that!"

She keeps trying though. I do my best to put on a stern face, "Come on Charl, that tickles!"

Sighing, she slides back over and stands behind the register again, nodding at the hat, "That's the one you're choosing?" She eyes it for a moment, thinking pout on her face. "It's pretty. The colours are very you - purple with white embroidery."

"It almost feels like Grandma had me in mind when she made this one..."

Charlotte chuckles, whipping the hat out of my hand and placing it on my head, "I wouldn't put it past Grandma. Hey! Have you seen the new jewellery stand?"

"I can't see anything, you pulled the hat over my eyes," I readjust it on my head and follow the direction she points in. I'm slightly surprised that I didn't notice it earlier, but it's not exactly flashy. Can't exactly blame me for being unobservant...

"Think you could check it out for me? I'm on shift all day and I want to know if they have any good or really unique pieces," she asks with her sweet as syrup voice. She always uses it whenever she wants anything, I really have to stop falling for it.

I groan in response; I'd rather go home than spend anymore time out here in the cold. Even with my coat the biting wind is starting to feel chilly. 

"You won't have to pay for the hat if you do."

And just like that, my mind is changed, "Deal. Now let's shake hands to show no going back on your word. This hat is free."

Charlotte laughs, firmly taking my hand in hers and wiggling it up and down. It's only to show how ridiculous I'm being but hey, I'm not the one paying for an expensive handmade hat. Jokingly saluting, I head off towards the new stand.

"Bye then!" she shouts behind me. 

Inside a glass viewing case there are lots of necklaces, rings, bracelets, tiaras and anklets - any accessory I could name and they'd have it, looking at the display I'm fairly certain of it. Some are silver and some are gold. They sparkle prettily, the dimming  light reflecting off of coloured jewels. Not every design is as simple as that, a few twist intricately around the stones encased in them. I wonder whether they're real or fake...

As if reading my mind, the stall owner's attention snaps to me, "They're real if you're wondering, real diamonds, and real gold. Handmade too."

I glance up at them, their piercing green eyes are just slightly unsettling. Somehow they almost look familiar. She seems candid enough, enough that I believe her anyway. Her pieces of jewellery are easily some of the highest quality I've seen. Then again, it's not like I'm a jewellery connoisseur. I can't help staring at them though, they're completely captivating... They're captivating but not unique and they're way out of Charlotte's price range anyhow.

Still, I can't quite tear my eyes away. I don't even realise that my face is practically touching the glass until my breath mists it over and I have to wipe away the fog. A single wooden ring, carved wood twining around a small emerald, is what truly catches my eye. A hand reaches inside the display case, taking out the exact ring I was staring at. I can't afford it, even so, a pang of disappointment runs through me at the thought of someone else having that ring.

Deciding it's about time I started on my way home, I stand up and pull my face away. I'm a few steps away, making a face and gestures at Charlotte to signal how expensive everything is, when I realise there'd been no one but me around.

"Don't you want it?" She holds the ring between two fingers.

"Yes, but I doubt I could afford it..." Without even knowing I'd moved, I'm back at the stall.

She reaches over and pulls my hand toward her, "That's alright, you can take it," she drops the ring into my palm and closes my fingers around it.

Stunned, I'm about to protest until I feel a drop of rain hit my head. I dart straight back to Charlotte, taking shelter under the waterproof fabric roof. "So, how long until you finish? This coat has no hood and I know you aren't gonna lend me your umbrella so I'll just wait and run to your place under it with you."

She glances at her watch, "I'm here another hour even though there's no one around. And Kallima, you're wearing a hat, you don't need a hood or an umbrella..."

"You know you make a very good point. Enjoy the rest of your shift then!" I sprint home as quickly as my slow legs will take me. I don't particularly want wet groceries.

Somehow they're dry when I dump them on the table and begin organising. It's a shame the cupboards are such a mess, it means I have to organise them too. I have no idea what my Dad does but he always seems to leave everything in disarray. I find myself stacking tons of peas and beans for the good part of an hour before I'm all done.

Satisfied, I shove my hands in my pockets, scrutinising everything one last time. One of my hands brushes the ring, I'd almost forgotten about it. I turn it over and over in my hand. Up close, I can see even better how well carved it is. It looks like the roots of a tree twining over a mossy green rock. I slip it on my ring finger and go to check my planner. If I do all my homework on a Saturday night it leaves Sunday free.

There's not much written down, much to my joy. There is, however, chemistry homework...

[peter-pan-hoe]

Junior pt2

 Junior had changed a lot since becoming a crew emmber of the Jolly roger. Killian has become like a brother to her and the men have become her family. As she has no memeory of who she was she doesn't have anyone to hold her reputation for and so she is a little on the wild side.

Warnings: swearing, very light girl on girl smut(just some heated smoochies in an alley)

Pairing: Killian x adopted sibling!reader, unnamed woman from the bar x reader ;)

Sorry for any mistakes it was kinda rushed.

tags at the bottom.

Part 1

MASTERLIST

  “Junior!’ Killian’s voice rang up to me where I sat in the eagles nest atop the Jolly Roger.

  “What?” I called down.

  “We’ve been docked for an hour,” he leant casually against the ramp rail. “I found a nice dress shop you’d like,”

I glared at him as I climbed down the roped ladder.

  “Ha, ha, very funny,” I said sarcastically.

I punched him in the arm as I walked past him and down the ramp.

  “Seriously though,” he said walking after me. “I did find a decent pub we could get ale and a hot meal from. Or at least a warm meal,”

  “You had me at ‘ale’” I chuckled.

  “Now I know you’ve learned to handle yourself the years you’ve been with us,” he gave me his Big Brother look. “But no going off on your own,”

I opened my mouth to speak but he cut me off.

  “And that mean without a Jolly Roger crew member,” he said sternly, knowing what I was going to argue. “Not the company of some gross man you find in the bar,”

  “Sure thing KJ,” I looped my arm through his and dragged him along. “Thanks for not calling me a whore this time, brother,”

I did as told and didn’t leave the bar with some gross strange man. Instead I left with a beautiful strange woman.

I winked at Killian as I lead this woman by the hand out the door of the pub.

I dragged her round the corner into the alley by the pub and pushed her against the wall with my hands on her shoulders and my hips against her own, one of my legs pressed hard between her thighs.

   "you sure know what you're doing," she moaned as I attatched my mouth to her neck and sucked hard, smiling at the purple mark I left just bellow her ear.

   "Thanks," I sighed back. "I've had practice,"

   "How old are you?" she asked btween kisses as her hands ran through my hair.

   "Not sure," I said back before kissing her mouth roughly. "My memory only goes back like 5 years,"

   "That's so sad," she pulled away and looked at me with pity.

I got a little frustrated. "Not really," I grumbled. "If I don't remember my life before now it's probably because it sucked. All the memories I do have are great,"

I moved in closer and looked at her for permission. when she smiled a attacked her neck once again.

I didn't actually get to take her anywhere to finish off our little daliance.

I had her pinned against the alley wall when killian came round the corner, picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.

   “Sorry to interupt,” he smiled at the girl I was with.

(i didn’t get her name ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

   “Junior we’ve gotta go,” He spun round and began walking back out to the street.

   “Why?” I grumbled, resting my chin in my hand with my elbow on his back.

i waved goodbye to the girl with a wink and she just looked at me so confused.

   “Just some issues playing cards,” I could hear a smirk in Killian's voice.

Suddenly the street was lit up by light pouring out the open pub door.

   “HEY!” A group of men started piling out of the pub in attempts to get to Killian.

He put me and we both ran.

   "What kind of issues in cards caused this you little shit?!" I screamed at Killian as we ran through the street to the docks.

   "Doesn't matter now does it?" he shouted back.

We managed to hide from the townies and make it back to the Jolly Roger with no further incidents.

   “You idiot!” I whack Killian in the arm as I yelled at him. “What did you do? Did you cheat? Did you steal something?”

   “Ow,” He grumbled. “And yes, yes. I did both of those things,”

He held up a silver necklace with a large dark blue stone in the pendant.

   “I thought you’d like it,” he smiled sheepishly. 

   “You almost got us killed and ruined my night with a beautiful woman for a necklace?” I glared at him. Then I smirked proudly and took the necklace from him. “Thank you,”

   “Go get some rest before we leave again,” he patted my on the head then went up to the quarter deck to go over some charts.

I was woken by shouting on deck.

I threw on my jacket and ran out to see the sky was filled with dark clouds and the men were struggling to keep the sails still in the devilish winds.

   "Killian!?" I shouted over the noise.

   "Over here!" he was standing by the helm desperately trying to steer the ship.

   "What the hell happened?" I yelled once reaching his side. "Where are we?"

   "The seas here are controlled by a magic user," he explained.

   "What?" I looked at him in disbelief. "What kind of sorcerer has this kind of power?"

   "Peter Pan," he scowel when he said the name.

He'd mentioned the name before. The ageless demon boy who killed Killian's brother Liam.

   "We're in the Never Seas," I said.

Killian nodded. "I didn't mean to bring us here. I think it was some kind of trap,"

   "Trap?" I repeated. "For who?"

   "Either for me or for you," he looked at me sadly.

   "For me?" I raised my eyebrows. "Why me?"

   "I saw the boy's Shadow watching you a few weeks ago," he continued. "I think Pan wants you for something,"

I felt a sudden wave of nausea. Something I'd never experienced while at sea. Only a few times when drinking heavily.

   "What could he want from me?" I asked, suddenly very afraid.

   "I dunno sweetheart," Killian put his hand reasurringly on my shoulder. "I promise I won't let him hurt you,"

   "how are we going to leave?" I cried.

   "I don't know," He was about to speak again when something pulled me up from the ship so fast I barely had time to react.

   "Junior!" Killian screamed.

I looked at the thing carrying me and saw a faceless shadow. Faceless save for the piercing white eyes that bore into me.

I thought I would be more afraid.

I should've been screaming in fear.

But something about this shadow seemed familiar.

   "Do I know you?" I said cautiously as the Jolly roger became tof ar away to see.

   "You' have known me for a long time," the shadows voice echoed in my head.

It began to descend and I looked down to see an island that also felt familier. Like I'd lived here for a time. Like home.

   "Neverland," I breathed as the shadow put me down.

I was going to asked why I knew this place and why he said I'd known him but he didn't stay. He simply flew away and vanished over the tree tops.

Well shit. I thi=ought. Killian will come for me eventually. Might as well wait.

I turned to face the ocean where I could barely make out the Jolly roger on the horizon. A tiny grey spek in the distance.

at the rate the winds are blowing I don't think they'll get here until tomorrow. And if that Pan person is delaying them.

I began walking along the shore line back and forth thinking of what to do if I ran into any of Pan's forces while alone here.

There was some rustling in the bushes behind me and I reached for my scabbard at my hip. My blood ran cold when I remembered I'd left it in my quarters on the ship.

   "Unnarmed?" a voice called and a boy with the face of an elf stepped through the shrubbery.

He was attractive for someone who live on an uncivilised ilsand.

His face and clothes had a thin layer of dirt but it only added to his looks.

There was another boy behind him.

Taller, hooded. He had a jagged scar running from above his left eye to the opisite side of his mouth.

He too was very attractive.

   "who are you then?" I put my hand on my hip, honestly unafraid.

   "I'm Peter," the elf-boy smiled. "Peter Pan,"

   "Ah yes," I smiled. "The one who killed my friends brother,"

Pan's face screwed up a little as if this was an event he'd forgotten.

   "I've killed many people so your friend shouldn't feel special," Pan said plainly, his eyebrows raised.

The hooded boy's face suddnely changed, like he'd remembered or realised osmething.

He stepped forward and took of his hood, looking at me with a strange expression. like he wasn't sure what he was looking at was real.

Pan looked at him with confusion. "Felix what's the matter?"

   "I know you," Felix spoke.

   "You do?" Pan and I said in unison.

   "Y/N?"

tags:

@dina3s

**If you want to be tagged in anything or everything shoot me a msg or ask**

[hellogreenergrass]

People vs Place

Im in the process of reading two books, almost simultaneously. The one counters the other you see and I would veer into one side of my personality too much if I didn’t balance the books out. Become too much about “people” or too much about the wilds, the “place”. The first book is Homo Deus by Yuval Harari, a book about human civilisation, about us as this collective machine churning forward under the bleating mantra of “progress”. It talks less about the great achievements we have made, and more about the path of destruction each civilisation has left in its wake, from the Sumerians, to the Mayans, and the Easter Island folk. Of course the Easter Island folk. He is gearing us up to ask where will be tomorrow, as a civilisation. What is our end game? We roll relentlessly ‘forward’, all the time watching the ball rather than the game. And could that ever have been more true than right now, with our civilisation on the brink of… something. It could be one of many things: civil war as politics polarises our every opinion; nuclear war as two fat man-children wave their warhead-willies at each other; or an almighty natural disaster, as floods and winds, seas and sun batter our wildly short-sighted urban habitats. I dunno, it just feels like something is going to happen. Safe to say, the book whilst a must read, is really fucking depressing. And the weight of it is bearing on me. I said to Kristian last night that I used to only read novels and books less about people but more about place, or at most books by people who just walked around places (see Fiona Campbell in Africa for another good read, she used to bonk Ray Mears and he appears in a bush in the book!). But now I read politics day and night. I no longer subscribe to BBC Wildlife or National Geographic, but to the Washington Post and The Economist. I no longer live on the edge of a forest or the sea or a moor, but in a city. Granted, I found a tiny oasis of park and lake and live on the edge of that instead. But on one side where I have ducks, grebes, herons, owls, foxes and every native deciduous tree that can grow here, on the other I have a busy road churning with city traffic, airplanes overhead, sirens in the distance, litter instead of leaves. My flat could not be more of a metaphor for my life if I had planned it! Torn between my ambitions that keep me in cities and my desire to roam and live a wilder life. To make the metaphor more reflective, the “city side” has a hospital - hidden by trees – that houses a mental ward. On nice days people come outside and in between the rush of cars you hear the screaming and manic shrieking of the unwell…

So the other book is probably the main reason I am so tetchy right now. Its hit a nerve that has made me realise all of the above. Its called the Outrun by Amy Liptrot, an Orcadian who like others, left the Islands and moved South to London of all places. In London she found she constantly searched for the horizon and never found it, looking for ‘the edge’ of things all the time. I get that – Its been a decade since I left Cornwall and I still find myself doing it. Whilst South she developed a problem with drink and after a years of abuse has returned to the Orkneys to get better. She has moved out to Papay where she is holed up in an RSPB property (she was a “corncrake wife”) called Rose Cottage, and is documenting her recovery and inner revelations whilst talking us through everything about the island life: The seals, the skies, the ‘merry dancers’. All the while she is tuning into the tide and moon cycles, the stars, the weather. And I realised how detached I am from them here. We don’t get much weather in Birmingham, which is weird for me. I grew up on the Cornish coast, I’ve never lived somewhere so stable. If civilisation pacifies you into insignificance through the weight of our population size and the rituals of consumerism, then cities are the final nail in the lid, pacifying you from your very nature. Detaching you from the cycles of the world. Infrastructure making tides and weather and seasons irrelevant. Kristian and I grow stuff, keeping a tenuous thread of attachment to the cycles going. I’m about to clear out the aphid infested purple sprouting broccoli and plant the Autumn stocks for next Spring: Garlic and some Spring onions I think. We’ve had our first crop of apples on the trees I bought Krisitan for his birthday last year, and we recently slept overnight in the forest at Cannock Chase so we could fill as many tubs as the daylight would allow with blackberries. Little threads.

I wonder if I am homesick, but I don’t really have a home so don’t really know if that is it. Cornwall is kind of home, but I cant really go back for any length whilst my dad still exists there. Scandinavia is a close second, but the language barrier jars on me. Makes the place too much about the people all over again. I think about Scotland as an in-between, but don’t know what I would do for work up there. I do like the choice of communities in Birmingham though. I like cycling through the park and seeing the Asian guy doing tai-chi every morning in the bandstand, the catholic nuns basking in the sun on the benches, the burka clad women running in circuits with their white Nikes flashing out from under their black skirts. The three Sikh guys that stroll out together in deep conversation, turbans bowed into one another as they walk. The military fitness club, the yummy-mummies, the hooded lads draped over bikes and benches as they huddle over a smart phone. And then I remember how pointless it all is. How we are just little specks in a machine of civilisation. I don’t know them, they don’t know me. And if one of us ‘went’ tomorrow, it wouldn’t really matter. Nothing would change. I don’t really believe that the “butterfly flaps its wings” metaphor is applicable to humans. We are too many.

And that’s kind of where I have got myself too. I wonder if that’s the reason most people feel the need to be away somewhere remote: so that you are surrounded by fewer people in order to be more significant. On Signy, in Antarctica, our footsteps in the moss would last years. Here, on the tarmac, I leave none.

I wonder where my place is. So yeah. That old chestnut! 

[chatteringbluemagpie]

Talkin’ ‘bout a Revolution: Alley Way

Summary: “Well that could have gone better.” Enjolras mutters, cracking his knuckles, already stiffening beneath purpling skin. “Oh come on it wasn’t that bad.” Grantaire rolls his eyes, one of them a bright blue against the purple bruise along his cheek, because someone couldn’t resist talking, couldn’t resist it even if it would ruin everything he’d spent the evening working on. “I had to punch the guy because you screwed up.”

Warnings: Smutty Smut

Pairings: Technically Enjolras/Grantaire 

Characters: Enjolras, Grantaire

                                                                   “Well that could have gone better.” Enjolras mutters, cracking his knuckles, already stiffening beneath purpling skin. “Oh come on it wasn’t that bad.” Grantaire rolls his eyes, one of them a bright blue against the purple bruise along his cheek, because someone couldn’t resist talking, couldn’t resist it even if it would ruin everything he’d spent the evening working on. “I had to punch the guy because you screwed up.” “I hardly screwed up.” “Well I was doing fine until you opened your damn mouth!” Enjolras whirls round to face him, and Grantaire’s watching him so impassively, like he honestly doesn’t give a damn. “You think you’re so bloody clever.” “Well I do have some exam results to say so.” He shrugs and Enjolras groans, pushing a hand through his hair. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. We don’t even have to work together, it wasn’t even my bloody idea and yet here I am stuck with you!” Grantaire’s face doesn’t change, and it only makes him more annoyed. “You stroll in looking so damn cocky, like you own the damn world, like you know so much better than anyone else, more than those of us who have been working on this for years. And it’s just bloody infuriating watching you being king of the world, and then messing everything up and pretending it doesn’t bloody matter!” “If you know I’m like that, why do you let it get to you?” Enjolras shakes his head incredulously. “You think you’re so-“ “So?” Grantaire quirks an eyebrow and Enjolras wants to punch him, but all at once he finds himself grabbing the front of Grantaire’s shirt and pulling him into a rough kiss. Grantaire’s hands find themselves tangling into Enjolras’s hair to pull him tighter to himself. “Well, this wasn’t the confession I was expecting.” “Oh would you just shut up for one minute.” Enjolras mutters, pulling him back again, and their teeth knock together but neither pull away, instead Grantaire slides a hand down his back, skimming his fingers over his skin. Enjolras slips a hand under Grantaire’s shirt, moving him back against the wall. “God I’ve been waiting to find something to actually stop that smart mouth of yours.” “Well there aren’t any complaints here…” Grantaire murmurs breathily, then exhales roughly as Enjolras worms his knee between his legs. “You want me to fill my pretty mouth with something else?” Enjolras moans as Grantaire nips at his earlobe, and he can hear the smirk in his voice. “For fucks sake please do.” Grantaire spins them, Enjolras’s shoulder blades crashing against the brick wall behind him. Then he tugs at his hair, to expose his throat and place a line of kisses and bites along the skin, while his other hand moves to work the button of his jeans. Enjolras shifts into his touch as Grantaire’s fingers dip beneath the material. It briefly crosses his mind that they’re in public, only just hidden down the alley way, but they Grantaire moves to kneel and his mind goes blank because oh god his mouth isn’t just good at talking complete shit. “Fuck…” Enjolras’s hand tangles roughly into his curls, and receives a hum of contentment. “Fuck-“ “Such foul language… I’ve waited so long to get you to put your voice to better use than just ordering people around.” “I thought you were being quiet?” “Sir.” Grantaire grins at him, and Enjolras tightens his grip, and watches as Grantaire’s eyes flutter closed and he dips his head again. It doesn’t take long, and Grantaire manages to make the whole thing all the more obscene by licking his lips as he watches Enjolras, leaning heavily against the wall. “Well this is a turn of events.” Enjolras sets his jaw, pulling himself together enough to push himself away from the wall. Something about Grantaire’s face, his knowing expression that Enjolras actually wanted and enjoyed that, absolutely infuriates him. “Don’t think this means anything.” “Oh yeah, my first assumption was that blowjobs in back alleys meant true love.” Grantaire has a slight smirk on his lips, but his eyes are still flirtatious, hooded and dark. “And already you’re right back to being so bloody cocky.” “You gonna shut me up again?” Grantaire raises an eyebrow, and Enjolras stares at him. “Oh you think you’re so clever.” He mutters before he turns to stalk toward to road. “Hey! You kissed me.” Grantaire calls. “And what a bloody mistake that was! Why are you following me?” “We live in the same direction! Jesus…” Enjolras pauses, then decides to just continue stalking down the road. “If you didn’t want to do it then you should have fucking said!” “Would you just let it go?” “Hmm, let’s see… You kiss me out of nowhere, we do that and now you’re even more pissed at me than before… No.” Grantaire puts bluntly. “It shouldn’t have happened.” “No shit. But it did.” Grantaire shoves his hands into his pockets and for once he actually looks annoyed. “And I rather enjoyed it, and I know that you sure as hell did so be an adult and deal with it!” “Come back to mine.” Enjolras says impulsively, because he’s still coursing with adrenaline and dopamine and right now he doesn’t want to be having this conversation. “Jesus Christ it’s like emotional whiplash with you Apollo.” “Are you complaining?” Enjolras folds his arms. “We’re having sex right?” “No, we’re baking cookies.” He says dryly, tapping his foot. “You’re trying to get out of talking.” Grantaire grins. “I think we both do enough of it day to day.” He receives a shrug in return. “When we can talk without yelling, then we can talk. Until then…” “Gonna be a long time coming Apollo.” Grantaire’s grin turns crooked, but he places a hand on the wall next to Enjolras’s head, to better lean into the inch or so between them and close the gap. “But I can wait.”  

He wakes up before Grantaire the next morning, by some miracle apparently because the instant he moves Grantaire groans and shifts so he freezes until he drops back to sleep. He carefully extricates himself, and decides he can’t risk trying to find any decent clothes so he grabs his jeans and a t-shirt from the top of his clean laundry and puts them on in the lounge. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see Grantaire it’s just that… He really doesn’t want to see Grantaire. So instead he slips out of the house, grabbing his wallet and keys, and jogs down the stairs. His favourite coffee shop is too close to home, too many windows, so he walks on until he finds a small establishment that looks like it’s probably frequented by truckers, but it’s clean enough. He orders a cappuccino and scrambled eggs on toast from the smiling waitress. It’s only when he’s staring at the sugar slowly vanishing into the milk froth on his coffee that he allows himself to pause and call himself an absolute bloody idiot. For starters he doesn’t even like Grantaire. He wouldn’t say he hates him, but the guy just has a way of getting completely under his skin, winding him up. Possibly the nearest thing he’s ever had to having his blood boil, if he’s honest. He just has such a way of talking, of getting in the way even that Enjolras can’t quite bring himself to consider him a friend, even the others from his rag-tag of vigilantes Enjolras would be beginning to consider friends and yet Grantaire hasn’t quite made it there. But you slept with him, he reminds himself and he’s about to tell himself to shut up for gods sake when the waitress reappears from the chain-mail kitchen curtain with his food. “I really love your tattoo.” She comments as she places the plate down. “Huh?” “The swallow. I’m not brave enough to get one, right wimp me.” She laughs. “Oh, right. It wasn’t so bad…” He smiles awkwardly, and she retreats behind the counter to sip her tea. He looks down at himself, completely confused by the fact that the girl is apparently seeing tattoos… And then he spots it, a swallow flying over the curve of his wrist bone, part of a trail, as it turns out, of fading birds curling down his wrist. “Shit…” He hadn’t realised Grantaire could even draw on skin, let alone how permeant this might be. What if he sees a friend, what if they see, what if they figure something out. It’s not like they’ll judge but, well, he will. Which sounds totally backward even in his own head but having anyone know about this would just… He feels ashamed. That’s the best word, he decides, cutting the corner of his toast. Not ashamed that he had sex, but ashamed that he strung someone along, someone who he doesn’t like and who doesn’t particularly like him either, and that he let it get that far. That he didn’t stop it at a kiss, at a quick touch, even at Grantaire going down on him. He took the guy home, hell now he’s gone and left a basic stranger in his house in the hope that he’ll be gone when he returns, and for what? Some fun? Stress relief? Enjolras groans, resting his head on his hand. He looks ridiculous, lying with his head next to a plate of eggs, on what is probably a very questionable table, but he probably couldn’t give less of a damn. Which is an unusual feeling. He stays in the café as long as he dares, or as long as he can before the waitress looks like she’ll come over and start chatting in the lull of the mid-morning. His flat is remarkably empty by the time he gets back, with not a thing out of place, though his bed has been made. He exhales in some sort of hideous relief, he knows eventually he’ll have to face it, next time they work together because he can’t avoid the guy forever. He supposes that’s why they always say to never sleep with your co-workers, though they never mentioned anyone who winds people up as much as Grantaire. He goes on with his day with a sense of tense relief. By the time he makes it back to his flat, shopping in tow, he’s all but released the tension weighing across his shoulders. He’s just debating what to make for dinner, pulling a few items out of his bags, when he realises that there’s someone else there with him. Grantaire is watching him from the sofa, a smirk winding its way across his features. Enjolras nearly drops the tin he’s holding. “Jesus Christ Grantaire!” “You made it back.” Enjolras put down his tin far too heavily. “Did you break into my house?” “Of course not. I just climbed the fire escape.” Enjolras doesn’t even justify that with a response, turning back to his cupboard. “Oh don’t be mad Apollo.” “I’m sorry, am I not supposed to be the slightest bit annoyed at the fact you climbed in through my window? Or that you’re just sitting here and that I could have… Hurt you?” “Oh you wouldn’t do that.” Grantaire grins cheekily. “Grantaire you know what I do for a living. You’re lucky I realised it was you!” Grantaire shrugs. “I trust you not to shoot me or whatever your preferred method would be.” Enjolras exhales roughly, running a hand through his hair. “What are you doing here?” “Well you ran off so quickly this morning I had no choice.” His smile is still infuriating and Enjolras does his best to ignore him, putting his various groceries away. “You could have just done the normal thing and forgotten the whole thing.” “Forget last night? Oh never… That was far too much fun.” “Oh good, so this is going to be my life now is it? You breaking into my house to remind me we had sex.” “I told you you wouldn’t get out of talking.” “I had to hold out some hope didn’t I?” Enjolras mutters. “Can you cook?” “What?” Grantaire chuckles. “If you insist on talking I may as well get something out of it.” Grantaire pauses, shrugs and the pushes himself up. “What do we have to start with?” To be fair, Grantaire does start cooking, but he never gets any further than chopping because somehow standing in the kitchen together turns into a stolen kiss or two which devolves further into kissing against the cabinet and then someone may end up bent over the work surface amongst breathy moans and nips and bruising fingers. “Fuck me Apollo…” Grantaire exhales shakily. “I thought I just did.” Grantaire rolls his eyes, dropping another kiss on his lips. “Talk.” “Why? This is fine.” “And here I thought you never want to see me again?” “I didn’t want to talk, if we can do that every time I can’t complain as much.” “You want a set up…” “Something like that.” He hears himself say and Jesus Christ does he actually mean that? Grantaire watches him carefully, with a look both perplexed and amused. “Do you have to do that?” Enjolras mutters, folding his arms. Grantaire only raises an eyebrow. “You may be the only person I’ve ever hated.” He tells him, scanning around to find his t-shirt. Grantaire turns to begin chopping food, completely butt-naked. “So this is all hate-fucking?” “You put it so nicely.” “Releasing all your pent up rage at the world, and directing it at me. And let’s be honest, there’s probably a lot of other pent up frustrations going on there because hoo boy have you see you? Such a workaholic. I think I’d be doing a service.” “Are you performing a ‘service’ now?” Enjolras asks, folding his arms as he leans on his counter and most decidedly not looking anywhere but the back of Grantaire’s head. “I mean I like to think I have a pretty good physique.” Grantaire shrugs. “You’re trying to wind me up.” Enjolras states. Grantaire glances over his shoulder with an infuriating hint of a smirk curling his lips. “Is it working?”