#and with the exception of the librarian guard most of the guards are complete pieces of shit

[sun-marie]

The amount of detail given to random, easily missable NPCs in this game on the off-chance that the player we'll Scrutinize them is so impressive

[highqueenofelfhame]

I’m not posting a tag list for this part because it’s late and I’m exhausted and wanna get it out for you guys. If it does poorly I’ll go back and tag but right now I’m just very over tag lists. Follow the “#hqoe f&f” tag or “falsehoods & fistfights” or “Hqoe writes” tags to more closely follow my work. You can also follow @highqueenofelfhamewrites and turn on post notifications if you want to be notified of my writing! I’m not doing this to be mean, I’m doing it to save time and frustration when the tagging system fails (as it often does)

Hugest shoutout in the world to @punkassbookjockey26 for being the best beta in the entire world. She helped so much with this update!! Give her a pat on the back.

Part One // Masterlist

Rowaelin // 5681 words

~*~

For the last several hours, the clatter of her clicking keyboard and the flipping of pages had been on a continuous loop. At some point, Aelin had opened Spotify and forgotten to turn on any music, clearly content to keep to her rigorous work pace in near-silence. The door to her office was closed, and no one had stopped by to bother her since she’d arrived. Only a handful of phone calls had disrupted her this morning, which meant she had gotten plenty of work done.

Except that it wasn’t morning at all— it was two in the afternoon, and she couldn’t quite figure out how the hell that had happened. She was still squinting at the time on her computer screen when a firm knock sounded at the door, and she called out, “Yes?”

“Have you eaten today?” At the sound of Rowan’s voice, Aelin’s head whipped toward the door. She was unable to stop the smile that spread wide across her face or stop herself rising from her chair to meet him. Aelin perched against her desk, accepting the brown paper bag he held in his hands. No, she hadn’t eaten, not since her half a bagel and cup of coffee before she arrived at work. She’d left a banana in her car for a snack but hadn’t wanted to run back down for it.

“Barely. I didn’t even realize it was past lunch,” Aelin sighed, looking back up at his face. Rowan was grinning down at her as she tore a bite of croissant off and popped it into her mouth. The man looked criminally good, wearing jeans that hugged his legs in all the right places and a white button-up shirt. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and her eyes lingered on his tattoo that swirled down to his fingertips.

“Can I kiss you in here?” His question caught her off guard, a laugh bursting from her lips. “Because this whole…” Rowan gestured to her outfit. “It’s really doing it for me.”

“You like librarian Aelin?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning down to press his lips to hers. The get-up he referred to was a pinstriped pencil skirt that hit just above her knees and patent black stiletto heels that had her only a few inches shorter than him. She had a red tank top tucked into the skirt and, at some point, had discarded her white cardigan over the back of her office chair. Her lips matched her shirt in a bright, matte, red lipstick that she’d neglected to touch up throughout the day. Still, when Rowan pulled away, his mouth was tinged with the outline of hers. “I like this a lot. Fuck.”

“For the record, you can kiss me anywhere you want to,” she told him. “Especially in my office, especially when the door is closed.”

“Noted.” Rowan tugged on her high ponytail before sinking into one of the leather armchairs in front of her. Aelin continued to munch on the variety of pastries he’d brought for her while his eyes seemed to be glued to her legs. Aelin wondered if he was thinking about laying her out on this desk and having his way with her here, but she also knew he wouldn’t let that be their first time. No matter how badly she wanted it to be.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Whitethorn?” She asked, nudging his thigh with the toe of her shoe. The way he raked his teeth over his bottom lip before looking up at her told her that, yes, he was thinking what she was thinking. The way he quirked his brow at her also told her that, no, it wasn’t going to happen.

They were kind of dating, in the sense that they had been on a handful of dates. They had shared many heated kisses against the door to her apartment when he dropped her off, but he was being such a godsdamn gentleman about all of it that they hadn’t had sex yet. Aelin would have fucked him in the bathroom of the bar that first night, and they both knew it. But something was holding him back. To be fair, she couldn’t place all of the blame on him. She was holding back as well. Whatever this was between them felt like something that could be extraordinary, and she didn’t want to be the one that fucked it all up because she couldn’t keep it in her pants.

“I have a fight on Saturday, and I was really hoping you would want to come. Obviously, I would give you tickets, plus however many extra you want to bring whoever.”

“Just Aedion, I think.” Her cousin would likely die to be personally invited to one of Rowan Whitethorn’s fights, the same way Aelin knew he’d been having a bit of a mental breakdown when he found Aelin with him at the bar.

“Not your friends’ cup of tea?” He teased with a grin.

“Not even really mine, but you get like, almost naked for these things, yeah?” Rowan’s head tilted back as he laughed, reaching out to catch her fingers between his own. He squeezed them, shaking his head at her. “I’m just saying, any female fans you have are not because they want to watch you fight. I Googled you.”

“Of course you did.”

“And if coming on Saturday,” she paused, fighting the twitch of her lips at the innuendo, “is what gets me to see you sweaty and naked, I will be there.”

“Apparently, you can find that on Google also.” Aelin started to jerk her hand from his, but he laughed again and tugged forcefully enough that she dropped into his lap, his arms settling around her hips.

They didn’t have sex on her desk by the time he left, but he did have a trail of lipstick down his neck and red smudges on his collar.

~*~

There had only been a few times where Aelin had seen Aedion this excited. He was practically jumping out of his skin, trying and failing to keep his wide grin at bay. The whole way there, he’d talked about Rowan’s stats and how likely it was for him to win this fight. Apparently, it was very likely, and according to Aedion, if anyone bet against Rowan in the gambling pools, they were going to lose a lot of money.

This version of Aedion was almost completely opposite the one that had shown up an hour late to the bar a few weeks ago, only to find Aelin perched in his personal hero’s lap.

By the time Aelin spotted a familiar head of golden blonde hair making his way through the crowd, Rowan had stayed true to his promise. He’d bought her not one but two drinks, and she had a very happy buzz flowing through her.

“Aedion!” She hadn’t bothered to get out of Rowan’s lap; she liked the way his hand felt on her thigh, the other twirling a piece of hair around his finger while he talked to the tall, broody one— Lorcan.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay; I made friends! And a fiancé!” Rowan laughed then, sticking his hand out for Aedion to shake.

“I’m the fiancé. Rowan Whitethorn. You must be the cousin she’s been waiting on.”

“I got held up at work. Aedion Ashryver, nice to meet you.” Despite the cool and collected exterior Aedion was giving off, Aelin knew without a doubt that he was dying inside. She spent several nights curled up on his couch while Aedion and his friends watched Rowan’s fights, though she’d never cared enough to pay attention. Usually, she disappeared to his guest room to read a book or snuck out after an acceptable amount of time to hang out with her own friends.

Aelin had heard about Rowan’s victories time and time again. When Aedion showed her different self-defense moves, he would say that Rowan Whitethorn took someone down with the same simple maneuver. To say that he admired Rowan would be an understatement. He damn near idolized him.

“Nice to meet you? That’s what you’re going with?” Aelin asked, mouth dropping open as everything Aedion had ever said about the man beneath her flooded her memory. Aelin looked at Rowan, shaking her head and pointing at her cousin. “All I ever hear about when you have a fight coming up is ‘Rowan Whitethorn this’ and ‘Rowan Whitethorn that.’ Yet now he’s here, and all he says is nice to meet you. Unbelievable.”

“Rowan doesn’t look like someone who particularly cares for fan service. Though if I’m wrong, correct me, and I will rectify that immediately. On my knees even, if he decides he’s interested in men at all.”

Aelin’s lips dipped into a drunk pout as she said, “I saw him first.”

“Technically, I saw you first,” Rowan interjected, a teasing tone in his voice. “And you rejected me.” A wrinkle appeared between her brows as she looked up at Rowan’s handsome face, disliking that she was already being ganged up on.

“I’m sorry— you rejected him?” Aedion sputtered in disbelief. Aelin flicked Rowan’s nose, and just like that, they settled into an easy banter that tugged on Aelin’s heart entirely too much.

Now, though, Aedion seemed to be nearly vibrating out of his skin with excitement. At will-call, they’d learned Rowan had set aside special floor seating just for them. When they walked into the arena, Aelin was pleased to see Rowan’s group of friends from the bar. She’d spent the most time with Fenrys than anyone else, and he welcomed her with a big hug, insisting she sit beside him instead of Lorcan. Aelin was more than happy to oblige, as Lorcan didn’t seem to have a taste for her. He didn’t even bother saying hello.

They settled into their seats, Aelin sitting between Fenrys and Aedion, both of whom had skipped the pleasantries and moved right into a conversation about the upcoming fight. Aelin leaned back into her chair and took in the surroundings. There were bits and pieces she remembered from her time barely watching matches with Aedion, but it was still different than what she expected. There was a large octagonal ring in the center of the room surrounded by black fencing that had to be about six feet tall. She wondered briefly if the fence was to keep people out or to keep the fighters in.

People were milling about, but Aelin realized that the arena itself was three levels high, and seats were piled around the room from floor to ceiling. There had to be thousands of them, and from the look of the crowds filing in, there wasn’t going to be an empty spot in the house. She hadn’t realized that MMA had such a following.

After about twenty minutes, the lights dimmed and the booming voice of the announcer filled the arena. People cheered wildly as the introductions for the fight were made and the sponsors were thanked. And finally, Aeling knew it was time. The announcer over-dramaticized the entrance for the first fighter and Aelin watched as a lean-muscled man walked up to the ring. He entered through a gate on the side, and people cheered as he made his rounds. Aelin sat on the edge of her seat for the announcer to start his next introduction, ready to see Rowan walking through the tunnel, when a different name was announced and a different man came strolling out. The confusion must have been all over her face when she looked at Aedion because he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Rowan is the main event,” he said. “Which means there are a few fights before his.”

“Seriously? You mean I have to wait?” Aedion nodded and her scowl deepened. “How long?”

“Looking at the schedule, Rowan’s fight is slated to start in about two hours.”

“Two hours?! I have to wait two hours!?”

“Come on, Ace. It won’t be that bad. Just try to enjoy it.” Aedion turned away and was immediately drawn into the fight that had begun in the ring just a few feet in front of her. Aelin pouted, remembering all the reasons why she never stuck around to watch these matches with Aedion previously.

“All I wanted was to see Rowan sweaty and half-naked. I literally don’t care about anyone else,” she grumbled, mostly to herself. Beside her, Fenrys chuckled and threw his arm around the back of her seat as she settled back. Aelin frowned down at her phone, opening Snapchat to get a quick photo of her expression, which she promptly sent to Rowan.

It took him a good ten minutes to reply back to her, and it seemed he knew why she was pouting because the text across his photo simply said be patient.

After that, she didn’t want to bother him, and whatever pre-match rituals he may have, so she settled for scrolling through various social media apps to bide her time. When she found herself restless, she gave in and opened her book app to continue reading a romance novel she’d started the day before. The male love interest may have been a boxer and may have been incredibly sexy, and she may have downloaded it after searching for fighting-related books.

She had just reached a particularly steamy part of the book when she felt Aedion nudge her arm. Godsdamn him, the leading male was just about to give the girl the orgasm of her life when he’d interrupted. Aelin scowled up at her cousin, but the expression morphed into one of incredulity and excitement when she heard Rowan’s name announced, and he walked out into the arena.

Aelin immediately perked up in her seat, sliding her phone between her thigh and the chair. Rowan strolled out like a king surveying his kingdom, and the cheers were deafening. He wore absolutely nothing but a pair of forest green athletic shorts that left little to the imagination and some sort of fist guards over his hands. A wicked grin formed on his lips as he jogged up to the ring and hoisted himself up over the side with practiced ease. There was a very dramatic introduction, one that had the entire crowd screaming and getting to their feet. Aelin couldn’t help but join them, giving a standing ovation to the man she’d spent so many stolen hours with lately. Beside her, Aedion was absolutely losing it. It only made her smile more.

Even as the arena quieted while the referee explained the rules, nobody returned to their seats. Everyone stayed on their feet, and Aelin could understand why. Once the fight started and the hits and kicks started to get thrown around, she found herself filled with a restless energy that she couldn’t push down. Every time his opponent’s fist swung toward him, her heart began to beat frantically in her chest.

But Rowan ducked and dipped out of reach almost every time. The way the muscles of his arms and legs rippled every time he took a swing at the other man, Cairn, her mouth went dry. She hadn’t walked into the arena tonight expecting to find anything about the fight beautiful, but it was. The way that Rowan’s body moved was like watching a dance unfold before her. Every swing of his arm or swift kick of his leg sending her heart racing just like it had when she’d watched ballets growing up. It felt like such a bizarre comparison to make, but Rowan Whitethorn’s body was nothing short of a work of art.

But there was also a ferocity in it. Where ballet was soft and demure, Rowan was a force of nature. His face was hewn from stone, each strike with his hands or legs precise and controlled, but with an element of chaos surrounding it. He unleashed himself on Cairn, throwing punches and kicks swiftly, so quick that Aelin could not keep up with where the next one was going to land. With brutal efficiency, Rowan managed to get past Cairn’s guard to deliver several painful-looking blows in quick succession that had the crowd collectively wincing. It seemed that Aedion’s idolization hadn’t been misplaced.

Rowan breathed heavily, sweat dripping down every inch of his torso. His abdominals flexed with every exhale, showing off every hard line and sharp curve. The tattoo that swirled down his left side glistened under the bright lights of the arena. He looked like a god, and Aelin discovered that she found it quite difficult to keep her mind from falling off into the gutter when he looked like that.

When he made the final blow, a hit to Cairn’s face that had him unconscious before he even hit the floor, Aelin was surprised by how wholly turned on she was. He dominated the fight and looked damn good while doing it. Rowan was announced as the winner, fierce triumph written all over his face as the crowd completely lost their minds. Pride swelled in her stomach, and she couldn’t help her wide smile as she cheered along with the thousands of people in the arena. Even though it was televised, it felt special when he made eye contact with her and grinned before exiting the ring and heading her way.

Of course, he was intercepted about a dozen different times by dozens of different people offering their congratulations. When he finally got to her, he dipped down and hugged her tightly to his chest, pulling her feet off the ground. She could feel the heat of his body through the thin layers of her clothing, scorching her skin. The smell of him, a musky scent of sweat and the pine body wash she had come to associate with him assaulted her nose and she breathed him in deep. She felt the want ratcheting up in the most delicious way and knew that she would no longer be content with a night of only being pressed against her apartment door. Their kisses, no matter how desperate they had been, wouldn’t be enough to sate the need she felt for him. She needed all of him, and she needed him as raw and unrestrained as he had been during that fight. He pressed a kiss to her cheek as her feet met the floor, and he stepped back.

“Sorry, I’m sweaty.”

“You were amazing.” Amazing didn’t quite cover it, but it was the only word she could think of that came anywhere close.

“Does that mean you’ll come out with me tonight? To celebrate?” She wanted to say yes immediately. But with him in front of her, covered in sweat and looking like the only thing she wanted her mouth to touch for the foreseeable future, Aelin shook her head as her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. The disappointment began to cloud his handsome face, but she shook her head faster as though it would dispel his negative thoughts.

“I was kind of hoping I could steal you away. Celebrate with you alone.” Her voice was low and sultry, and she almost laughed because she could see him calculating just what that meant. The two of them. A celebration. Entirely alone, with no one else around.

“I— yeah. Yes. We can— yes. I have to wrap up here and then we can go to my place?” At all of his stuttering, she couldn’t help the bright laughter that bubbled out of her as the usually confident man in front of her stumbled a bit. His attention was drawn away temporarily when Aedion clapped Rowan on the shoulder and began to spew his admiration and congratulations. Rowan took it with grace, thanking him for coming while trying to keep his eyes off Aelin’s face. The way she bit her lip clearly wasn’t helping because his eyes kept dropping down to her mouth.

When a member of his team told him he needed to hurry— he had a short press conference post-fight and still wanted to shower before— Rowan dropped a chaste kiss to her lips and headed back to the locker room.

Aelin waited not-so-patiently, standing on the outside of Rowan’s group of friends in the parking lot while they talked. Aedion fit right in, pointing out the highlights of the fight with renewed vigor. He still seemed to be riding the adrenaline high from watching Rowan fight , and Aelin was sure he would implement something of what they saw into her self defense training.

When Rowan finally came out, they all cheered and shoved him around their little circle in celebration. He was grinning from ear to ear as he reached for Aelin and pulled her into his side, dropping a kiss to her hair. It was impossible to stop the tug she felt in her stomach, something between excitement and nerves. Everything inside seemed to be tied up in delicious knots as she leaned into him, enveloped by the scent of his body wash, the smell of pine equal parts comforting and arousing. “Where are we going tonight?” Fenrys drawled, throwing his arm around Vaughan. The quiet, dark-haired man tried to shrug out of it, but it only ended with him in a headlock.

“I will actually be stealing him away,” Aelin said before Rowan could even get a word in. Rowan’s hold on her shoulder tightened as he squeezed, and she squeezed him back where she had her arm around his waist, secretly thrilled that he was as on board with this plan as she was. His friends groaned in protest but Aelin and Rowan laughed. Lorcan looked particularly displaced about the revelation and was the first to step backward out of the circle and bid farewell. It didn’t take long for the others to follow and for Aelin to lace her fingers through Rowan’s and tug him toward his car.

While their pace could be described as leisurely, Aelin felt anything but. Now alone, she felt that want from earlier return with a vengeance. Rowan squeezed her hand, and her mind immediately wandered to those strong hands touching elsewhere, all over. A quick glance up at him left her reeling when she caught his gaze on her, and swore she saw every dirty thought that crossed his mind. It excited her, knowing that despite his cool, calm exterior wrapped around all of that cockiness, Rowan Whitethorn was just as affected as she was by what was to come.

When they arrived at his car, a sleek, black sports car that was perfectly him, Rowan opened the passenger door for her, ushering her in. Aelin turned her head towards him, and under the parking lot lights, she could see where Rowan had taken a bit of a beating.

Ducking inside the car, Aelin turned to look at Rowan, her thumb coming to brush over a bruise that was forming on his cheek. It was already a blue-purple color, indicating that it would only look worse over the next few days. Luckily he hadn’t taken too many hits, so this seemed to be the worst of his injuries. There was one other place near his temple that had drawn a little bit of blood but it was already on the mend, cleaned by the medics backstage.

“I’m okay,” he reassured her, his hand coming over to rest on her thigh. Aelin pulled hers away, startled by the softness in his voice. Her eyes searched Rowan’s for the lie that he was more hurt than he let on, but she saw nothing. She supposed it should have comforted her that Rowan knew what his limits were, but still, it seemed crazy that this man before her was the same one that had attacked Cairn in the ring and ended the fight in the first round.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, her voice echoing the softness of his own.

“You just saw me get pummeled a few times and you’re worried about hurting me?” His voice dripped with disbelief, remnants of a laugh bubbling out. Aelin shrugged, cheeks stained a rosy blush.

“I don’t want to accidentally push on places that hurt.”

“I can assure you that anything you inflict upon me will be the sweetest kind of pain,” he promised, lacing his fingers with hers and bringing them to his mouth to press a kiss to her knuckles as he started the car and drove out of the dimly lit parking lot. Those knots in her stomach unspooled themselves into liquid heat as her bottom lip slipped between her teeth. “Don’t do that.”

His voice was rough with want, and it scraped over her, leaving small goosebumps on her skin. She shivered in anticipation, and ached to hear more in that deep, rumbling timbre. Reaching out a hand, she coyly ran her fingers slowly, softly up the taut skin of his arm. “Do what?”

“Bite your lip like that when I can’t kiss you.”

“If you drove faster, you would be able to kiss me,” Aelin teased, leaning over the center console to press a lingering kiss to his shoulder. Rowan’s knuckles turned white where he gripped the steering wheel, glancing over at her as the car rolled to a stop at a red light. Soaking up the opportunity they’d graciously been given by the gods, he deftly captured her chin and crushed his lips against hers, kissing her in a way that stoked the smoldering want inside her into an inferno. She felt the sinful slide of his tongue brushing against hers, of his teeth tugging over her bottom lip like he wanted to take a bite out of her. Aelin hoped that he would.

When he pulled away, Aelin’s eyes stayed closed, her lips stayed parted. A shaky breath tumbled from them, filling the tense silence in the car. It took everything in her to sit back in her seat and let him drive. If she were to do what she truly wanted to do, she would have him pull over and climb with him into the backseat, his apartment and privacy be damned.

Aelin wasn’t so sure that Rowan would stop her if she tried to coax him into it. How they had managed to go this long without tearing each other’s clothes off was a mystery to her. As she looked over at him, her eyes lingered on those strong hands gripping the steering wheel, hands that she wanted gripping her in the same way. She desperately wanted to have his fingerprints bruised into her thighs, to see the imprints of his teeth all over her chest. The idea of his back being covered with the marks of her nails only fed that growing fire within her.

The drive seemed to take an eternity, consisting of stolen kisses at stop signs and longing looks. It was hard to keep her hands to herself, and that seemed to be the case for Rowan, too. By the time they reached his apartment, his hand had drifted so high up her thigh that it was burning a hole straight through her jeans.

Rowan held her hand loosely while they walked inside the building and to the elevator. As soon as the metal doors slid shut, however, he was tugging her toward him and pressing her back against the wall. His hands slid from her hands to her waist, dropping down to her thighs to lift her up on the railing. Aelin couldn’t help the moan that she breathed into his mouth, her fingers twining into his hair while he tugged at her lip.

When the elevator dinged on his floor, Rowan was dragging hot kisses down her throat. It seemed to be too much for him because he had to take a moment before he pulled away. Rowan’s mouth stayed against her neck while he caught his breath causing goosebumps to rise all over her skin. The doors were beginning to close again when he finally pulled away and shoved his hand out to stop them.

Aelin laughed then, sliding down from the railing and tugging him down the hall toward his apartment. At the door Rowan fumbled with his keys, pressing kisses to the side of her neck as the lock tumbled and gained them entrance.

Any restraint he had left seemed to dissipate as soon as the door was shut and locked. Once again her feet left the floor as he carried her to his room and laid her down on his bed. Their kisses were hungry, starving as he lifted her shirt and tossed it onto the floor. His hands made quick work of the rest of her clothing, and before long they were just skin on skin, his mouth drifting lower and lower down her body.

All of it was pure ecstasy, almost too much for her to handle. It didn’t take long before she fractured beneath his mouth, her nails digging into his back, scratching desperately over his skin as he moved back up her torso to press his lips against hers.

When he pulled back to look at her, something had shifted. Gone were the frantic kisses, replaced by deeper ones that stole her breath from her lungs. An impossible feeling was tugging at her heart as their bodies moved together beneath the sheets. This time when she fell over the edge, Rowan went with her. Their bodies were so tangled it was hard for her to think clearly enough about where he started and she ended. Their gasping moans were a harmony she wouldn’t soon forget as he collapsed on top of her.

Aelin’s heel pushed down the strong muscles of his thigh, his calves, silently begging him not to move. His lips ignited sparks over her collarbones as he settled atop her while her fingers ran softly up and down his sides.

Eventually Rowan rolled off of her, and she would have frowned had he not tugged her into his side a heartbeat later. Aelin draped her leg over his waist and nuzzled her face against his chest, pressing a single kiss over his heart.

The last thing she remembered was the feeling of his hands in her hair and his low humming of a forgotten melody as she drifted off into a blissful sleep.

~*~

Soft kisses were being dropped over her bare back, leaving a trail up and down her spine. Aelin hummed in approval as a grin spread across her face. Her eyes were still closed, ignoring the rays of sunshine that were likely illuminating her face, when Rowan pressed a kiss to her cheek and the corner of her mouth.

“Good morning,” she said hoarsely, her lack of voice another reminder of everything that had transpired last night. She had woken Rowan a handful of hours after their first time, rolling on top of him and placing teasing kisses over his neck and chest until his calloused hands guided her into position. That time, Aelin had been control, her hands gripping the headboard through wave after wave of pleasure. There was an ache between her legs that made her want to beg Rowan to touch her despite how exhausted she was.

“Hi, baby.”

Aelin’s smile widened as she rolled onto his back and looped her arms loosely around his neck. Rowan kissed her properly then, long and slow until she was sure they were going to go for a third round in under twelve hours.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, fingers brushing her hair back from her face. Aelin wanted to snort in response, knowing last nights makeup was likely smeared around her eyes and she reeked of sex and sweat. But there was such reverence in his tone that she couldn’t bring herself to disagree, his green eyes bright in the morning sun as they traced over every feature of her face. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Her hand moved from his neck to the side of his face, thumb brushing lightly over the bruise that marred his skin.

“You saw me fight. You watched me beat the hell out of someone and you didn’t turn and run. You didn’t balk. You still wanted me.”

Aelin was positive the confusion was written all over her face from the downturn of her lips to her furrowed brow, but still she said, “Has that been a problem before?”

“Yes.” Rowan pressed a series of kisses over her face starting at her temple and ending at her jaw.

“It’s not a problem for me,” she promised, voice barely a whisper against his cheek. Rowan was quiet for a moment, turning his face to look at her. “You’re a fighter. That’s what you are. I wouldn’t want you to be anything but what you are.”

A mix of emotions fluttered across his face, whatever he felt being a catalyst for kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, nose, and finally her lips. When he pulled back, he looked hesitant and unsure. It was the first time Aelin had ever seen him like that and it felt raw. Like he was exposing a part of himself he seldom did. She was ready to ask him what was going on when he kissed her so thoroughly she’d nearly forgotten the conversation at hand.

“What if I wanted to be something else?” Rowan gazed down at her, teeth grazing over his bottom lip. Again, she swore she saw uncertainty on his face and in his tone as the question rushed out in a single breath.

“Like what?”

“Like your boyfriend.”

She couldn’t help the joyful laughter that bubbled up and out like champagne. Rowan grinned too, so widely that his dimples were deep in his cheeks. Her thumbs ran over them as she kissed him, both of their smiles making it almost difficult. It was too cute, the way he’d seemed almost nervous and bashful in his delivery. It felt like high school all over again in the most innocent way.

“You can be that, too.”

[lifenodaijobu]

Just a little list of my soft Draco obsession

For  @vemodalensx

Theres a few here but I’ve left some out since the list was getting a bit long. I might make another list with more.

The list separated between cute Draco and vulnerable Draco just so you can choose whether or not you want a bit of sadness with your softness ^3^

Oh and ofc it goes without saying that the whole list is Bottom Draco hehe

Cute Soft Draco

Flower Crowns (2.4k words)

It started with a single flower 🥀 Draco makes flower crowns for Harry and that is how the whole school finds out about them. A happy dose of Harry with flowers in his hair, and a smitten Draco.

Dreaming of you (21k words)

Harry has nightmares, he wishes for a night when he can sleep without nightmares. What happens when he starts dreaming of Draco Malfoy? Draco left the wizarding world after the war, he's a librarian and lives peacefully in muggle London, what happens when Harry fucking Potter shows up at his work place?

Honey (

Harry is sick of Draco's oh-so-adorable endearments.

The Care and Management of Volatile Veelas 

Harry adopts a Veela. He really didn’t mean to.

Quidditch Wife (Part 2)

Theres no real summary for this except for  It's got all my favourite guilty pleasures, like protective!Harry and vulnerable!Draco, with a side of jealous!Harry and SportyQuidditch!Harry (and I think the top!Harry rather goes without saying).

All our pieces....fall right into places series

The first story:  Draco had had a crush for a while and now that he had Harry in his bed...He was everything that Draco needed.

Trick or Treat

Harry had no idea that he was such a fetishist - a fact which he discovers on Halloween.

Pretty

Harry finds a pair of stockings in the back of their dresser.

The Sweater

After being forced to room together in 8th year, Draco and Harry become friends and decide to continue their living arrangements post Hogwarts. The only problem is, Draco can't seem to stop stealing Harry's clothes.

1095 Roses for a life time

Being woken up by the lips of your boyfriend is always a nice surprise, especially on the morning of yours third anniversary of dating, which leads to hot and passionate morning activity. But all this is just to indulge in themselves, Harry's surprise includes roses and a promise for a lifetime. Will they be the right choice?

Get your kinks out

Harry plays seeker for the Magpies, and he discovers that one of his teammates secretly wears lace panties. What begins as a sexual relationship becomes increasingly complicated by Harry’s fame, Draco’s family, and Harry’s ambivalent feelings about dominating Draco.

Can’t say no

Draco really has the worst friends. When they put a spell on him that he has to say no to everything Harry says.....things don't turn out well.

OR

That time when Harry proposes and gets turned down because of his horrible friends.

What Draco wants

Out of anything a petty fight with Harry Potter could have led to, Draco Malfoy least expected it to end with him bent over a table, questioning his relationship and feelings for Potter, and having the best sex of his life.

Criminal

Things were going just fine for Draco Malfoy. He successfully conned and counted cards across Europe and America, amassing a small fortune, along with a lengthy rap sheet. That was until he made the grave mistake of returning to England for a high stakes card game and got himself caught – by Harry Potter no less. Now, Draco is stuck in England under Auror Potter’s guard with no friends, no distractions, and no escape. How the hell will he pass the time? And since when did Potter get so bloody fit? 

Things Change

Harry and Draco's friends notice something different about them when they fight. See what they find out when they walk down an empty hallway. 

Whats a little veritasium between two sworn enemies?

Draco Malfoy has a nasty habit of always coming across such bad luck no matter where circumstance presents itself and unfortunately that doesn't seem to change when his bloody nemesis Harry Potter over hears him talking about Veritaserum potions in the hallways past curfew. ( It was Pansy fault really)

Harry wants to know what the Slytherin boy is up to, especially with how nervous Malfoy is, but is that ALL Harry wants to know?

Mr Right Now - side note: Cedric/Draco

What do you do when you're feeling down about your ex? Make him jealous! Story features Cedric Diggory and Draco Malfoy trying to win back their loves, but somehow end up falling into each other's arms

For the love a kitten 

With Voldemort Dead, life is not easy for Harry as Old friends become enemies and old enemies become friend. With the return of three Slytherins, Harry life is turned upside down.

How to prepare for a wedding night

I have a neighbour. He is stuck in a loveless relationship and an arranged marriage. He has zero experience in bed. He needs my help so that his love life won't suck for the next few decades. He needs a sex teacher. Oh... and the neighbour happens to be Draco freaking Malfoy. And I might be a little tiny bit in love with the git...

Draco's Scent

In which Harry can't be around Draco for long without the boy's stupid smell messing with his mind, and he really, really hates that.

Turn The Heat Up

Wonky Cooling Charms result in interesting revelations

Flirt

Draco and Hermione make a devastating duo at the Ministry as the respective Department Heads of Wizarding Culture Preservation and Muggle Relations. When Harry Potter gets involved in their latest joint project, Draco can’t seem to stop himself from constantly flirting with him even when it doesn’t seem to affect the golden boy at all. He’s wrong. Harry is most definitely affected. Includes Slytherin shenanigans, Draco sucking at quidditch, and Harry trying not to be charmed. Draco POV.

Angsty/Vulnerable Soft Draco

The Draco Malfoy incident - side note: I cried big time

Draco Malfoy is best friends with a Hufflepuff. A HUFFLEPUFF! He's also partnered with a redhead git, trying to hide from an obsessive green-eyed saviour and has become overly fond with sunrises. It's exhausting. Can't a man plan an assassination in peace around here?

I’m not in your dreams

Draco has dreamt with Harry's voice since he was fourteen, so there's no doubt for him about who his soulmate is. Now, in their Eighth Year, Harry has finally dreamt with his soulmate's voice too. The problem is that Draco was born mute.

Yours for the taking

Draco was raised to be the perfect Omega, but there are things even he cannot endure. When he discovers just what Tom Riddle's plans for him are once he's claimed him he is confronted with an impossible decision. Only one thing remains clear: he will never be able to go back home.

Luckily, Harry Potter is there to save the day

Rough on you - side note: Dark Harry. This is more vulnerable Draco than soft Draco so please read the tags before you start the story :) I was unsure whether I wanted to add this here but hey-ho

"I'm the only one that can give you want you really want." Harry spun Draco around and held his arms at his side and he pressed against his back, whispering against his throat. "That can force you, that can humiliate you… that can hurt you, and you want it. You want me."

Harry is having a bad day. Draco just cannot learn to keep his mouth shut. Neither of them would have predicted it would lead to this.

But who guards the dragon?

This is an expansion of my one-shot, It'll be Okay. You don't have to read it first, it will be in the story. Requested. DMHP Sub/Dom relationship. Slash. Don't like, don't read. Harry thinks a few thinks through, then comes into his creature inheritance. He finds out that he is the dominant mate to one Draco Malfoy. But things are never easy for the boy who lived

Taken For Granted

Having pined for Harry for long enough, Draco decided that it was time to give up and move on. What happens when Harry realizes too late what he's lost?

Mourning

Harry returns to school to complete his NEWTs. There he finds a much changed Draco Malfoy and surprisingly subdued Professor Snape.

In your arms, rests my world

Harry presses his mouth to Malfoy's forehead; he wants to tell him that he’ll never leave, that he wouldn’t dream of it.

“You make me feel safe, Potter” Malfoy whispers. “You keep me safe.”

Inside your mind

Goyle's taken it upon himself to act as Malfoy's personal, one-man guard and Harry can't help but feel like it's only making the bullying worse.

"I'll Protect You," and you can seal that with an Unbreakable Vow

His friends may tease but Harry doesn't feel bad for keeping a close eye on the Slytherin boy of one Draco Malfoy, after all someone has to do it. So when Harry secretly follows the pure-blood boy out past the courtyard, there's nothing strange or unusual about it; nor is it wrong.

Unfortunately the same can not be said for the scenario Harry accidentally stumbles upon as he can't help but stare in horror. It's not just wrong. It's absolutely despicable and Harry, well, Harry just has to do something about it.

A Big Black Sky

Draco shifts his head as he turns to look at Scorpius, his cheek touching the pillow. "Did you know that…" He pauses, his throat convulsing, and it sounds audible in the silence, besides Michael's steady, even breathing from the other bedroom.

Scorpius is staring back at him, in wait of something new to learn, a beautiful and intelligent child. He has Draco's mind. He has Draco's eyes and nose and mouth and hair. He is his. All his. All he has of Michael are his wild curls and the green of his eyes, and sometimes he looks into them and imagines that they aren't Michael's, but someone else's.

Draco leans his head closer, biting the quiver out of his lips before he breathes a laden and shuddering exhale, and he whispers, "You are my star in a big black sky."

Song To Say Goodbye

Draco should have remembered that life doesn’t always turn out the way you want it to. Somewhere along the way he forgot to always be careful and was left with nothing. It was hard enough getting himself together the first time, can he do it again?

Small spoiler for Song to Say Goodbye below

Its not Drarry Endgame: he ends up with a OMC cuz Harrys a big dickhead

[percywinchester27]

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-34)

Word count: 3.4K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: Feels, fluff

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23​​. I love you so much, darling <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

The rest of the week was hard.

There were things you wanted to do and then things that you had to do. Unfortunately for you, the Venn diagram of those two things were two circles that did not touch.

Normally, you loved your job, you loved studying and your classes. But sitting through Sam’s class was becoming a new, different type of torture. The pretension was wearing you down. You could see it grating him, too. You rarely spoke up in his class now, trying not to draw attention, neither did he call upon you like he did with other students. 

The library was still your second home, though, thanks to the untimely desertion of the other odd shifts librarian, you were left to run double shifts. Molly was sorry about it, but she didn’t have a solution for you, not until she had a new hire. That meant you were stuck in the library all the time. The guys in the apartment were starting to miss you. Kevin came over one evening to inform you everything sucked when you weren’t around. His face had made you hug him.

As for you? Without the free evenings, you couldn’t go over to see Max. You missed him terribly and it would do no good to whine about that to Sam, since you were still unsure about how he would take your excessive attachment to his son. 

Not that you didn't have the chance to talk to Sam. After Sam put Max to bed, each night he’d call. You would sit in the alcove of the library widow and talk to him for hours- about the day, the classes and everything under the sun. Sam told you about the cases he was working on, the judges he really disliked and the girl Chase was chasing. Sam thought he was named aptly. He was also your faithful informant about Max. Apparently the playground bullies were back at it with the mean words. You blurted out loud how you wanted to punch the kids and Sam piled on top of that. Cheerful conversations about shaking kids followed.

It felt so juvenile to talk with him over the phone, like when he worked in New York and you were stuck in Lawrence, but not quite. Now, it was exciting to imagine him blushing on the other end when you accidentally said something complementary. Or if a student decided to stay in the library late night, you had to giggle in hushed voices so they wouldn’t overhear your conversations. The thrill of it was exciting. Those few hours had become the highlight of your day.

So, when Madison asked you what you were smiling about in the last lecture on Friday, you had to make up a reason. You couldn’t very well tell her that the bruise Sam was sporting on his cheek was because Max outran him on the basketball court and Sam slipped and fell.

“Just thinking of something funny.”

“Wouldn’t have to do with the green eyed hottie from Monday, would it?” Madison wiggled her eyebrows.

“Who, Dean?” You burst out laughing. “Maddie! He’s married to my sister.”

She laughed with you, face apologetic. “Dang! He’s really hot. Is it bad that I’m sorry he is married?”

“Definitely not,” you giggled. The good old Winchester genes had caused many casualties.

On the dais below, Sam collected his things.

“Ooohh, Professor Winchester is heading out. I better catch him before he leaves. You wanna come? Talk about the assignment?”

“No, you go on.” Sam had given you a run down of the assignment last night. You wanted to pout that he was right. You could have done better.

“Still awkward about the whole drowning thing, huh?”

You looked away, not wanting to remember the pool.

Madison wasn’t paying attention. “You were… I don’t know, delirious. You kept calling him by his name and…” Madison looked at you warily. She did not complete the sentence.

“Y/N saw the opportunity and took it,” said Rebecca from the next row. “I would sell my soul to be lifted like that.”

You slung your bag around your shoulders and made a move to get up. For all you cared, Rebecca could get hit by a truck. Not only were you furious at her for planning that prank with Brad, it made you feel murderous when she objectified Sam like that, reducing him to some greasy creep of a professor. It was insulting.

“Wait up now, sweetie!” She came up from behind. “Don’t act so prissy now. We all know you’re not as innocent as you make yourself out to be.”

“Excuse me?”

“You think I’m blind? To not see how you’re playing with all these men to get what you want? First, you have Brad panting after you, so you get the attention? Then you’re dancing with some random blue eyed man at the induction dance. The very next day you’re swaying in the arms of Chase Lincoln of all people. The moment you touch the pool water, somehow Sam Winchester is miraculously saving you… and two days later you’re crying like a damsel in distress in the arms of yet another man!” She was counting off her fingers. “And people call me slutty! I’m going to find out what your secret is, Y/N. Because I know you have one! And when I do...”

“You know what, Rebecca?” You said as calmly as you could. “Why don’t you go screw yourself.”

With that you headed straight for the library. When Madison caught up with you, her face was red. “Can’t believe I was ever friends with that hag! Gave her piece of my mind.”

“Madison, you should catch professor Winchester before he leaves. I’ll be okay.”

She assessed your words against your expression, then nodded and left.

You wanted to be by yourself. 

Thankfully, cataloging was time-consuming and tedious. It took your mind off of Rebecca’s awful words. For the life of you, you couldn’t understand why she was so mean to you. 

“Excuse me, miss, can I borrow this book?” Enquired a sweet voice. 

You dropped the marker in your hand and looked up. Max was standing beyond the desk, a huge grin on his face. You gave a little yelp of your own and hurried from behind the counter to throw your arms around him, kissing him on his cheek. 

“Gosh, I’ve been dying to meet you,” you said, pulling back to look at him. 

He was wearing a plaid shirt over a small faded t-shirt and jeans. Such a mini-Sam. You couldn’t resist the urge to lean over and kiss his other cheek.

Max started blushing, looking down at his shoes.

“What’re you doing here?” You asked, leading him to one of the benches.

“Alex broke her arm last night. She couldn’t come over today. Dad’s got work. He asked me to hang out here.”

“Oh, no, is Alex okay?”

Max snickered. “Yeah. She was trying to sneak out for a party and fell out of the window.”

You pursed your lips trying not to laugh with him. “Poor girl.”

“Aunt Jody’s super-mad!” He added and you couldn’t help the giggle that burst through your lips.

“Max, is that you?” Molly asked, sticking her head from behind the shelves. “Darn kid! It’s been ages. Where did you run off to?”

“Mechanics camp!” He told her. “I know where an engine goes now. And how to hot-wire a car.”

“They taught you that at the camp?” You asked, skeptic.

“No, uncle Dean did.”

This time you laughed in earnest.

“You know Max?” Molly frowned.

You nodded. “Remember my little friend I told you about?”

“The one you were holding a bake sale for?”

“Yep, he’s the one.”

Molly put her hand to her lips. “Well, no shit! Do you know who his father is?”

You and Max immediately looked at each other, confirming your secret with a tiniest of nods. 

“He’s Sam’s boy, this cute little nugget here.” Molly pulled his cheek. To Max’s credit, he didn’t rub his cheek afterwards.

Which reminded you. “You wait right here, Max. I’ll be back in a minute.” You quickly found the stash of cookies you were saving for tonight's dinner and hurried back to him. Eating at the library wasn’t allowed, but Max was an exception to every rule. “Cookies for you. I know these are your favourite.”

Max’s entire face lit up. True to his nature, he offered you one before digging in. You watched as he took a few bites, sneaking looks to the book he was holding- Adventures of Sinbad. 

“I read one of those when I was kid. It had a monster bird that carried Sinbad away to its nest.”

“Oh, the Roc! That one’s my favorite!” Max clapped his hand and the cookies clattered to the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, trying to pick up the bag.

You stopped him with a gentle nudge. “Let me.” After cleaning the cookie crumbs from the carpet, you unwound the scarf from around your neck and used it to clean the crumbs stuck to Max’s mouth and shirt, fussing over getting it all away.

When you made him stand up to clean the hem of his pants, you noticed Sam standing behind you, arms crossed over his chest. He had a peculiar expression on his face- tender but also guarded.

“You’re not supposed to eat the library, young man!” Sam tried for stern, but ended up sounding amused.

You straightened up. “I make the rules here. Max can do whatever he wants.”

Max gave Sam a smug look, before running to him. In a motion that must have been more of less a reflex, Sam reached out and hefted Max up in his arms. 

“Look, what I found!” Max showed him the book.

Sam made a face. “Sinbad again? That sixth voyage was lame.”

“I wanna find out how it ends. There’s only one adventure left!”

“Alright, but this is the last of Arabian tales for the year. I get second hand sea-sickness just reading about it. I’m starting to miss Charlie and the chocolate factory.”

“You hated Charlie and the chocolate factory!”

Sam smirked. “You’re this close to getting my point.”

Max turned the book over. “We’re out of authors,” he told you.

The words shook you out of your quiet and you smoothened your expression. The scene before you was making your throat close up. You had never seen them together before. Max’s entire body language changed- his shoulders relaxed and he became less polite… just a bit more demanding, the way a child should be. Sam on the other hand radiated contentment. His voice changed, becoming softer, loving when he spoke to Max. You were sure you had been staring at them hungrily as if you couldn’t get enough of the interaction.

“Any suggestions?” Sam asked, tone still mild.

“T-Tolkein,” you stuttered. “You should try The Hobbit.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Elven songs. Wonderful.”

Molly came over to greet Sam and you excused yourself to go back to the desk and take a stock of the emotions coursing through you. At any point it could get too much and you didn't want either of them to see that.  

On their way out, Max waved at you. “Bye, Y/N!”

“Bye, Max.” You blew him a kiss. “You turned my day around, bud!”

There were too many people in the vicinity, so when it came to Sam, you nodded. “Professor.”

He mirrored your gesture. “Ms. Y/L/N.” And with a look full of promise of later, he walked away. You waved at Max till he was out of sight.

“Such a lovely boy,” Molly sighed. “Horrendous business what happened to him.”

“Yeah.” You cut the topic short, still unable to think of Max’s past without feeling faint. Thinking about it was so hard for you, Max had lived through it. 

Molly was in no mood to change the subject.

“Sam’s an amazing guy to give up the lawyer life and settle down here for that kid.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you mean?”

Molly threw out her hands, slightly embarrassed. “It’s Sam’s personal choice and all that, but he had a solid career in LA. After that Simmons affair blew up in the media, he could’ve stuck around and bagged A-list celebrities as clients. He moved out to this place for Max’s sake- so there was some normalcy and stability in his life. Then, again, Sam’s had his share of downs.”

Your back felt like ice, knowing what was coming.

“I’m not supposed to talk about it but it’s just you.” Molly leaned in closer. “Did you know his wife left him?”

She must have interpreted whatever your face showed as shock, because Molly continued. “Don’t know much about the whole thing. I heard bits and parts from the grape wine. Some girl he met in Kansas straight out of Yale. Took a plunge in a couple of months and this girl bolted not even a year into the marriage. Can you believe that? I mean, look at him… What the fuck was she looking for that he didn’t have!”

You could taste the blood by biting into your lip too hard.

“Never heard of him dating anyone since. I think he’s still in love with her.” Molly whistled. “At least they have each other- Max and Sam. That kid spends a lot of time here. You’ll keep finding reasons to feed your little friend cookies.” Molly flashed you a grin. You couldn’t quite return it.

It was past twelve when your phone rang. You’d just locked the library behind you and had given up on all hopes of the call.

You hurried to pick it up.

“Hey,” Sam breathed. “Sorry it took me so long.”

“It’s alright,” you sighed in relief at the sound of his voice. The sinking feeling in your stomach since the talk with Molly began to dissipate. 

“It’s your fault really,” Sam said. “Max liked The Hobbit too much and went to bed real late. How am I supposed to wake him in time for his class tomorrow?”

His concerns were so normal, comfortingly mundane. Sam made it sound so easy, when in fact, all this must have been so hard. One time you heard someone say a mean thing about Sam’s wife and it had you rankled. Sam must’ve lived through years of whispers, stories and ugly rumours. He must’ve had to defend his choice of staying committed so many times. Hadn’t the words shred his heart?

“Y/N? Everything okay?”

You cleared your throat. “Uh it’s just… it’s good to hear your voice.”

He was immediately on alert. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Weird day.”

“Where are you?”

You looked about your dark surroundings. “Crossing the playground, almost to my building.”

“Do you want to come over?” He asked, voice hopeful but unsure. “We can sit in the front lawn if you want.”

You made an impulse decision. “Yeah okay.”

Ten minutes later you were sitting on one of Max’s swings. Your tan sweater wasn’t helping much as you shivered in the chill, waiting for Sam to show up. Weird how you made it before him. He lived right there!

Noiselessly the front door opened and closed. Sam walked briskly towards you. He was dressed in dark grey sweatpants and a black full sleeve t-shirt. In his hand he carried an afghan, a thermos and two mugs.

“Here,” he handed you the afghan. It was the same one that was wrapped around you on the night of the pool party. The memory brought blood to your face.

“We don’t have adult juice around here today, but we do have hot chocolate.” Grinning impishly, he tilted the thermos in your direction. He sat on the ground in front of you, carefully filling up the two mugs with the rich, brown liquid while you wrapped yourself in the Afghan. 

Eagerly, you took a sip and moaned indecently.

“Good, isn’t it?” Sam chuckled. 

This was very close to what heaven would feel like. 

“So, what’s the deal, huh?” He asked after a few sips. 

You hesitated, not wanting to admit what the real problem was. It would be the case of a teapot crying to a boiler.

“You know you can tell me things, right?” His voice was soft, beguiling. 

“It’s something Molly said after you left.” You gave in, selfishly spilling it all. 

Sam listened to the whole story, then shook his head at you in exasperation and beckoned you with his hand. You blinked a couple of times, then gave up and went in willingly. 

What the hell, right?

 Sam tucked his arms around your shoulder once you slid on the ground next to him.

“You and I, we know what the truth is,” he said. “How does it matter what anyone else says?”

“Is that what you told yourself all these years?” You asked in a small voice, unable to meet his eyes.

Sam sighed. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Y/N?”

“You didn’t answer me.”

His fingers curled around your shoulder over the afghan. “No, I didn’t have to tell myself anything. I knew I loved you. That was enough.”

“I don’t know if I can be as strong as you.”

“That’s because you’re so much stronger,” he said. “None of those people have lived your life, they don’t know what you’ve been through. I can bet my ass, they wouldn’t have made it out of half of it in one piece. It’s easy to judge.”

“That’s not my problem,” you argued. “I don’t care what they think about me. But I can’t stand how it makes you look!”

Sam surprised you by chuckling lightly. “You’re cute when you’re indignant. Especially on my behalf.”

“Quit making this into a joke, Sam.”

“I seriously don’t know what else to do.” He put a finger under your chin, tilting your face up. “Look at me. I’m the happiest I've been in years! Do you really think I give a rats ass about what anyone’s got to say about me? My personal life has never been anyone’s concern except mine and yours. The only other person who has any say in this is Max. And that kid doesn’t shut up about you.”

Sam’s eyes were scorching, melting against the night sky.

“Molly’s wonderful, and I know she has a soft spot for me. But by the end of the day, it's just gossip. There’s no substance to it. So will you please drop it?”

At long last you nodded. 

“That’s like my Y/N.”

A rustle from the other side of Sam’s fence made you stiffen. The bushes behind the planks began to shake.

“What’s that?”

Sam shrugged. “Probably Alex sneaking out.”

You frowned at him. “Didn’t she break her arm doing exactly that?”

He snorted. “When has that stopped teenagers? It does make life a bit difficult. Jody’s grounded her. She can’t babysit Max for a while and I got work tomorrow.”

You saw Alex creeping on the sidewalk in front of the lawn. She saw the two of you huddled and froze like a deer caught in the headlight. Sam winked and waved a salute at her. After a minute she unfroze, returned the gesture and went off on her way. 

“Why don’t you drop him off at the library in the morning? I’ll keep an eye on him. I’m covering the first shift.” You worked to not sound too excited.

“Yeah, that still doesn’t fix the afternoon. I won’t be back before four.”

“Easy. I’ll wait with him here.”

Sam looked at you, hazel eyes wondrous. “You’d do that?”

“Sure. I owe him a pie anyway.”

“You’re a lifesaver!” He exhaled. “Seriously, I could kiss you right now!”

All you had to do was look up. Sam was right there.

Another crash sounded over the fence, louder than the first, followed by a muted ‘ow.’  You saw lights flare up in what must be the living room. From somewhere inside you heard Jody curse. “Jesus fucking Christ! Claire, what’re you doing on the ground.”

“Why do you always have to catch me!” Claire whined in the darkness. “Alex just left!”

“What. The. Fuck!” Jody yelled. “Get in the fucking car! We’re going to find your sister.”

That did it for you as you buried your face in Sam’s chest, smothering the giggles. His arms wrapped tightly around you. Sam himself was shaking with silent laughter over you.

Yeah, this was pretty close to heaven.

*********************

A/N 2: Thank you for all the support over the last week. 

Sam was right when he said-  “You and I, we know what the truth is. How does it matter what anyone else says?”

I’m going to take his advice :)

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[tpwkjerii]

a ghost’s melody

searching for a quiet place to study, you stumble across a seemingly abandoned library and recital hall. when you discover that you’re not as alone in there as you thought and begin to fall for the mysterious boy playing the piano, you start to wish you believed in ghosts before.

pairing: ghost!pianist!taehyung x reader

warnings: character death (not main, except for tae who’s already a ghost lol), slight angst, some cursing, kinda heated makeout session, sfw (PG-13)!

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 4.3k+

listen to: claire de lune and adagio for strings

a/n: first fanfic on here lol i hope it isn’t trash & pls enjoy loves!! xx

Kim’s Library and Recital Hall

At least that’s what you thought was written on the battered storefront. The building’s exterior was aged — the faded letters were peeling, the glass windows were dusty with years of negligence, the copper door handle was rusted from the elements, and the black-painted wood was chipping at the corners.

The store was a perfect match amongst the other ones along the deserted street. It was so ordinarily fitting that anyone could have easily passed it. However, it happened to be exactly what you were looking for — a quiet place to study and somewhere to potentially spend the night since your roommate decided to let you know at the last minute that her and her boyfriend would be in your shared dorm for the night.

With a small shrug, you moved towards the door and attempted to push it open. After a fourth push (that was more tiring than you’d like to admit), the old door finally creaked open. Surprisingly, dust didn’t meet your eyes as you thought it would, and with a brief inspection of the interior, you noticed that it was oddly clean — a stark contrast from its outer appearance. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that someone was diligently taking care of this place.

Paying it no mind, you moved further into the old store, basking in the silence and mildly soothing aura. The music-themed decorations and portraits of deceased musicians reminded you of your brother, and the quietness was a peaceful contrast from your hectic dorm (and, somehow, your campus library).

Before choosing a desk to work on, you checked your phone for the time.

4:37 PM

Nice, you thought. You should be able to get a few hours of work in while the sun is still up. Hopefully this place still has electricity or candles laying around. You sat down at a large wooden desk close to the storefront and pulled out your textbooks and papers, slowly beginning your studying.

You studied your notes in pure silence for 15 minutes when you heard a noise, but it was too quiet for you to distinctly make out what it was. It sounded like a scuffle, almost as if someone was walking but stopped abruptly. You turned and looked around carefully — maybe this place wasn’t as abandoned as you thought.

After looking around for a few moments and not noticing anything else, you returned to your books, although you paid much more attention to the pepper spray sitting in the pocket of your bag. Once twenty minutes passed, you slightly relaxed and hoped it was just a rodent. With a heavy sigh, you stood up from the desk and stretched, figuring that you could take a break and walk around.

With your phone in hand (and pepper spray in the other), you walked away from the desk and into a random aisle of books. You explored the various titles, noting that you hardly recognized any of them. It didn’t take long for you to realize this store was probably much older than you thought, considering that the most recent titles and portraits were from the late 1800s.

As you explored more aisles, you kept thinking of your brother and how much he would love this place you found. Yoongi always loved music and he never failed to humbly show off his natural talent at it. He once tried to teach you how to play the piano; unfortunately, you were too impatient and annoyed that you didn’t get it right away to ever succeed.

You were wrapped in your thoughts as you aimlessly walked around, now only thinking about how you would love to show your older brother this place. Suddenly, you found yourself at the entrance of a hall, and you stare in awe at the large grand piano sitting at the end. Despite its old age, it looked incredibly taken care of. The black paint was flawless and shined in the low sunlight, not a single chip in sight, and the ivory keys glimmered. You were about to walk towards the enchanting instrument when you heard the floor creak.

You froze in your tracks. That creak did not sound like a mouse, and you definitely didn’t hear anyone else enter this place after you. You tore your gaze away from the piano and turned around, your hand gripping your pepper spray. Weaving through bookshelves towards the table with your belongings, you cautiously looked for the source of the noise. But just as you turn the corner, you hear a gentle melody ring through the air.

Usually, this is the time where you would run. Or, if you were the character in a horror movie, the audience would be screaming at you to leave the store to avoid a tragic death.

But you didn’t want to run. Not because you found potential death exciting or because you wanted to piss off your imaginary viewers. But because the melody that was playing was the same one your brother spent months playing over and over again to perfect. It became so familiar to you in your home that you always associated it with him.

With a rapidly beating heart, you all but ran back to the empty recital hall. The volume increased as you neared the hall, and you held your breath as you finally approached the open doors.

“Yoon-” your whisper was caught in your throat as you made eye contact with a ghostly man. His face was devoid of any emotion, eyebags dark and defined, skin tone ghostly pallor, and eyes sullen and tainted with agony. Yet, he was beautiful. He had round feline eyes, defined jaw and cheekbones, full lips, and dark hair that fell elegantly on his forehead.

You waited as he continued playing the piece, knowing exactly when the end approached due to months of listening to it courtesy of your older brother. As the mystery man hit the last note, he looked back up at you, shock evident in his features.

“You’re still here?” he asked, his deep voice throwing you off guard.

“Y-yes, I am,” you started, finding yourself extremely nervous in his presence. You awkwardly shuffled your feet as you rambled, “I’m so sorry for intruding. I thought this place was completely abandoned, and I had no idea you were here. I’ll get going, so sorry again.”

With that, you turned to run back to your bag and get out. But he moved and grabbed your wrist at an unnaturally fast pace, and you gasped at how cold his fingers were on your warm skin. Goosebumps prickled along your arm as you looked up at him in shock and confusion.

He let go of you with a sheepish apology. “It’s just… it’s been a while since anyone has come by. You don’t have to leave,” he said, hastily adding, “unless you want to, of course! I cannot force you to stay if you do not wish to.”

A soft smile spread at your lips. This man was not nearly as cold as he looked or felt. His emotionless eyes seemed hopeful and his mouth was fixed in a boxy smile. With hope that this was fate of some sort, you told him, “I would love to stay.”

“What’s your name?”

“Me?” the ghostly man pointed to himself, oddly shocked at the question.

You nodded, adding with a small laugh, “I don’t see anyone else here who could answer my question.”

He breathed out a laugh as he answered, “Taehyung. And you?”

“Y/N. It’s very nice to meet you, Taehyung.”

He grinned at the way you said his name, and continued, “What brings you here, Y/N?”

“Ah,” you nodded and propped your arms up on the table you two were sitting at. “Noisy dorm halls, librarians who don’t care about enforcing quiet rules, and a horny roommate. You?”

His smile grew at your brutally honest answer. He hesitated as he answered, “I live here. I take care of everything.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

Your mouth parted. “Are you Kim Taehyung. As in a Kim of Kim’s Library and Recital Hall?” you joked, relieved that he found your reference amusing.

“Yes, I am Kim Taehyung. I’m relieved you find that interesting,” he responded. You grinned at the way he answered, his tone and diction captivatingly formal.

“Well, you’ve done an excellent job maintaining the interior. The outside though… that could use a bit of help,” you admitted honestly, to which he laughed heartily at. “Do you get much business?” you asked cautiously after he stopped laughing.

He shrugged, the same boxy smile still on his face. “Not much, but it’s alright. The silence is peaceful.”

You nodded thoughtfully, sensing there was more to his answer but deciding not to push it. “It is very peaceful here, and if you ever need some help around here, I’ve got more free time than I’d like to admit.”

Taehyung laughed again, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll consider it,” he responded genuinely, his voice growing softer for a second. “I’ll have to warn that working here isn’t as great as it may seem. It’s quite boring.”

“Pfft,” you shook your head, “boring? With the piano skills you have? I could spend all day listening to you play while I dust or shit like that.”

He basked in your ability to speak freely and jokingly with him, and at that moment he gathered the courage to ask the question that was lingering on his mind ever since you made eye contact with him.

“Why didn’t you run away when you first saw me?”

Your gaze faltered for a second, but a small smile returned to your face as you answered honestly, “I was going to run, but the piece you were playing reminded me of my brother Yoongi.”

A brief flash of shock passed on his face, luckily unnoticed by you as you continued your story.

“He used to play it so much, and it felt like fate to hear it again in this place,” you paused, looking back up at Taehyung with a sheepish smile and glassy eyes. “You see, as I walked around, I kept on thinking of how much Yoongi would love this place. Books and sheet music and portraits of musicians and silence. It’s just so so perfect for him. But, as much as I want to, I can never show him this place.”

“Why?”

“Yoongi died 3 years ago.”

[you]

goodnight yoongi. sleep well! i know you’ll do great at your performance tomorrow! mom and i will be waiting for you at the end !!

p.s. seokjin is invited to dinner next week ;)

[best/worst brother ever]

goodnight Y/N. thank you :]. treat me to some lamb skewers after?

p.s. you can text him yourself

[you]

of course, anything you want !!

sleep now, it’s already 3 am

p.s. why would i when i have you? :)

[best/worst brother ever]

ok, mom

[you]

>:(

When you turned your phone off to sleep that night, you didn’t realize that would be the last conversation you would ever have with your older brother.

The house was silent when you received the phone call.

Min Yoongi died in an accident on the way to the recital hall. A drunk driver hit his car, killing him and his friend and roommate, Kim Seokjin. The doctors did everything they could, but he suffered from too much blood loss...

You felt empty. Quiet tears escaped you as you sat in the passenger seat while your mother frantically drove to the hospital. The fresh bouquet of flowers you bought early in the morning to congratulate Yoongi on another performance well done was sitting in the backseat, the bright colors mocking your misery. Labored breaths left you as you ran to his hospital room, and you struggled to breathe when you saw his still body on the bed.

The doctor's solemn words drowned in the background as you fell to your knees. Your hands clutched Yoongi’s in hopes that he would reassuringly squeeze them again and wake up to say that it was just an elaborate prank. But he never did.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Taehyung whispered, offering a hand, which you gratefully took.

You shrugged, responding while wiping your wet eyes, “It’s ok. It was 3 years ago, and there’s really nothing to be sorry about. I’m not even sure why I told you.” You spoke honestly, which was odd since you barely knew Taehyung. For some reason, you felt as if you could trust him with anything.

“So what about you?” you asked after a few moments of silence. “Tell me about you. All about Kim Taehyung,” you finished with a gentle smile, your smaller hand still in his larger one.

“Well, I am 25 years old, a pianist as you saw, I grew up on my family’s farm before I moved to the city to study music with my uncle, and I eventually inherited the place we’re currently in,” he answered, his boxy smile growing as he told you more about himself.

“Wow,” you said, shocked at how much he told you despite knowing you for a short period of time. But you technically did the same.

“How did you like growing up on a farm?” you asked curiously, your hand unconsciously tightening your grip on his.

His eyes lit up as he replied, “It was peaceful. I loved the animals and spending time with my grandmother. The village was nice, too. My friends were always a few steps away,” he paused for a moment, “but when I started to play the piano that my uncle gifted me, I found my new passion: music.”

“So you eventually moved to the city to study music?”

He nodded excitedly in confirmation. “It was hard leaving my parents and grandmother,” he added. “But I tried to go back whenever I could.”

“It’s difficult leaving your family,” you agreed, unsure of what to say next. Luckily, Taehyung expertly carried the conversation.

“So Y/N, how old are you?” he asked, his boxy smile not fading for even a second.

You grinned and responded with the same tone he had earlier. “Well, I am 20 years old, I study Literature and Biology at the National University, I grew up in a city with my mom and older brother, and I found this place by complete chance.”

“You’re more interesting than I thought, Y/N,” Taehyung grinned. “And complete chance? What does that mean?”

“Well,” you started, “I was just thinking about how much I hated my roommate and dorm floor, and I somehow stumbled upon this completely deserted street. To be honest, I don’t even know where I am right now. Yet I’m still here talking to you, is that crazy or foolish of me?”

“No.” His left hand reached up to move a strand of hair away from your face. Your breath hitched and body froze as his cool fingers met your warm skin. “It’s not crazy or foolish at all,” he finished.

You melted under his haunting gaze, and you didn’t even notice how the sun had fallen outside and how the lights automatically flickered on.

Five hours.

Or at least it felt like five hours of you and Taehyung simply talking. At this point, you were really hoping he wasn’t planning on murdering you because you honestly have never met a guy this perfect. It seemed like he didn’t have a single flaw!

With each conversation and joking remark, you found yourself moving closer and closer to him until you two were thigh to thigh. Your denim jeans met the expensive material of his trousers, and both of your warm hands were covered by his much colder ones (something you chose to chalk down to iron deficiency or other potential medical conditions).

To merely say you were growing feelings for Taehyung would be an understatement — you were falling in love.

Eventually, he offered to show you around the store, considering you only really looked at the front. His hand around yours, he led you towards the back, where there were less bookshelves and more music-oriented displays. There were encased instruments, very old photos, worn sheet music, and more portraits.

“My uncle loved collecting portraits,” Taehyung said when he caught you staring at one of Jung Hoseok. “He said it was like always having a memory of someone, even if they passed.”

“Your uncle was right. Although I think pictures and a camera may be cheaper,” you teased, unaware of the slightly pained smile on his face. You looked around some more, and your smile fell as your eyes landed on a very familiar-looking portrait.

The curve of his lips, strong jawline, uneven eyelids, defined eyebrows — it was like you were looking directly at him. Your breath hitched as you looked at the inscription below the oil painting.

Kim Taehyung / 1877 - 1902

“Taehyung…” you called. He didn’t respond.

“Taehyung,” you called again, slowly turning around, your eyes meeting his panicked ones. “You… You’re …”

“Dead.”

“What do you mean you’re dead? You’re standing right here! But the portrait. Oh my god. Is this a dream? Have I been dreaming this entire thing? Ghosts aren’t real! Are you a demon? Oh fu -”

“Y/N!” he shouted, his arms wrapping around you to calm you down, his icy skin only further reminding you that a dead man was hugging you.

“You’re so cold! Oh fuck! You’re so cold! I’m so stupid!” you continued panicking, completely unaware of how to deal with this if it really wasn’t a dream.

“Can you please give me a chance to explain?” he asked, his low voice soothing you.

Begrudgingly, you nodded, and melted into his tight grip. It was hard to believe that he was a ghost when you were physically touching him, a complete contradiction of what online conspiracy theories and horror documentaries (and your biology lectures) told you.

“I didn’t lie about anything I told you. I was born in 1877 and I died in 1902. I was poisoned by another musician who grew jealous of my success. I chose to stay in the human realm as a ghost instead of pass on.”

You remained silent, needing a moment to think. Was he telling the truth? But Taehyung didn’t have a reason to lie to you, nor did he have a reason to be honest. And why was he so insistent on explaining himself? Did he have the same feelings as y —

“I’m telling the truth,” he said abruptly, sensing your inner turmoil. “I understand if you do not trust me. It would be hard for anyone living to trust me in this situation, but I want you to know that,” he paused, looking at you with such emotion that it made you want to reach out to him and take all the pain he was feeling away. “That I am being genuine because I care about you the way you care about me.”

You gasped quietly in shock.

“The last living person to enter this place was 60 years ago, and no one ever stayed,” he began sadly. “But then today, you,” he looked down to make eye contact with you, “you came in and you stayed and we talked for hours.”

As much as you wanted to comfort him, you still remained silent.

Taehyung continued, “Even when I was alive, I never encountered anyone who spoke as passionately as you, who was refreshingly honest, or who cared about what I said as much as you do. Y/N, I hope you understand that our time together today has meant the world to me, and I would never betray your trust or presence for anything in the world.

Your eyes teared up at his confession, and you barely managed to whisper, “Today meant a lot to me too.”

Taehyung let out a relieved breath and tightened his hold on you. “I may be a dead man but my feelings for you are true. I hope that you’ll accept me as I am and -”

“Tae-” you attempted to interrupt him, but he cut you off and only tightened the hug.

“And if you do not accept me, I understand,” he finished, his voice strained as he said the last two words.

“Taehyung,” you started, but he interrupted you again.

“Please, if you wish to leave do not say anything else. I fear that I might not be able to take it if you bless me with your voice and presence again just to leave soon after,” he pleaded, his hands gently holding you to his chest as you two still remained in a fond embrace.

“Taehyung,” you started again, feeling his chest tighten as you gently spoke, “Although this is all very hard for me to understand, I do accept you.” He breathed out a sigh of relief. “But,” you said sharply, and he winced at the word, “You need to explain everything for me to truly believe in you. How am I seeing you? How does this all work?”

Begrudgingly, Taehyung released the hug, and looked at you with a cheeky and fond smile. “How are you seeing me? Easy, as a ghost I can choose when I want to be seen,” he paused, “and when I don’t.” As he uttered the last word, his body disappeared in front of your eyes, and a surprised gasp fell from you.

“You! You! What the fuck!” staring as he reappeared, his body once again covering the wall behind him.

He laughed again at your shock, also finding your blunt language endearing. “It’s something all of us ghosts can do,” he said casually while you stood in shock. He continued, “I can also feel sensations like a human when I’m in this form.”

He stepped toward you again, leaving only a few centimeters between your bodies. “For example,” he started, grasping your warm hand and bringing it up to his cheek, “I can feel the warmth of your hands and how they feel on my skin.”

He dropped your hand and bent down, his beautiful face now directly in front of you. For a moment, you two only looked at each other, his strong eyes holding your curious gaze and his cool breath sending a shiver down your body. “And,” he finally said, “I can feel chills as your breath fans across my face.”

He stood fully up again, leaving you both relieved and disappointed. “I can also feel emotions just like I used to when I was alive, although I’m sure you already know that,” he told you, the boxy smile returning to his face. Your heart still recovering from the intense eye contact only a few moments prior, you could only muster a nod in response. “Would you like me to continue?” Taehyung asked.

“No,” you admitted, shocking him as he was ready to explain more.

“No?”

“I believe you, it’s difficult to, but I believe you,” you told him, your voice quiet as you looked up at him fondly. “This is all confusing as fuck, and I really don’t know what the future would look like for us but,” you pause briefly, watching as his smile grew to meet his eyes, “I have feelings for you, and I want to try and make this work.”

Taehyung grinned and wrapped you in a tight hug, the ice cold of his skin no longer sending an unnerving chill down you. He looked down and used his finger to lift your face to look at him. Wordlessly, he closed his eyes and leaned down.

Following his motions, your lips eventually met. Taehyung kissed you with gentle passion, his full lips molding perfectly against yours. His hands moved down to the small of your back, and he pulled you in tighter to deepen the kiss.

This was better than you expected. His cold lips set a fire within you, and the way he moved his lips against yours made you feel as if your chest was going to burst at any second. The moment his lips touched yours, and yours his, you knew that you could never feel anything like it again.

A moment of adrenaline seeped into you as you parted your lips, greedy for more. At this, electricity coursed through you and you felt as if a fire was ignited between you, and as Taehyung deepened the kiss the fire grew, nearly consuming you both whole.

Your lips moved in sync with his for what seemed like an eternity before he broke the kiss, leaving you breathless. He allowed you to catch your breath before he spoke, “I’ve wanted to do that ever since I saw you enter.”

“Why didn’t you?” you asked, a teasing tone evident in your words.

“It would be rude of me to walk up to a beautiful stranger and steal a kiss from them,” he answered, his hands moving to play with your fingers.

“I suppose it would be, but I wouldn’t have minded,” you admitted, making deep eye contact with him once again.

Taehyung smiled at your words, and he waited a moment before saying, “I know someone that I think you would be happy to see again. If you feel comfortable with me, I can take you to him.”

Your eyes widened, and at that moment, you could hear the same melody he was playing earlier coming from somewhere deeper in the hall. In that moment, you remember seeing the book that Yoongi had when he first learned the song, and how the composer was named Kim Taehyung.

A tear rolled down your face as you looked up at Taehyung in shock, his confirming nod causing a choked breath to leave you. Yoongi already found this place.

With the brightest smile you’ve had on your face in years, you gently grasped Taehyung’s hand. “I’ve never felt more comfortable in my entire life.”

[michiigii-writes]

Of Shadows and Tyr (1.5/??)

A continuation of our DnD campaign’s first session right here.  Because there is a limit to text on text posts. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

In the beginning:  There was a city (2/2)

We spent about a week living in the Church of Tyr.  Elyssia provided us with a constant stream of free food, and it was a safe, dry place to stay.  Craven and Valzan were also always around, but I spent the most of my time with the Tiefling girl.

She never spoke.  I was pretty sure she could understand common, from the way that she listened to the rest of us speak, but the most she ever said was during that first fight with the slavers.  I wondered if she knew how to write or draw, but she tended to keep herself otherwise occupied, so I never got much of a chance to ask.

She had scars all over her arm and neck, like she had been shackled for a long time and the bonds had chafed.  I tried touching her to cure her wounds, the first evening at the church.  She looked so small and guarded, and had clearly had a rough life; I was worried that there was some kind of wound that she was keeping to herself.

I was promptly bitten for my efforts.

I had hoped that clearly being an ally would have warmed me up to her even a little, but she definitely did not like to be touched ever.  I drew back with a grimace.

“I’m only trying to help you,” I grumbled, keeping my low but feeling annoyance bubble into my tone.

For a reply, she bared her teeth at me in warning.  I frowned, then recalled a different spell that might work.

[May you find sweet grass and gentle water,] I murmured, sending healing words her way.

The spell wasn’t as strong as if I had touched her, but I saw her sit up a bit straighter in shock as she felt the healing take effect.  I couldn’t see or feel if what I had done was enough, but seeing her surprised yet calm was enough to satisfy my efforts.  At the very least, she was well, and I had to be content with that.

For the rest of the week, she remained in my sights, not necessarily beside me, but always nearby.  I’m not sure who thought of her name first.  It might of been me, joking referring to her as “my shadow” whenever I spoke about her.  It might have been Elyssia, nodding to how the young Tiefling always managed to find the darkest, most secret corners of a room.

It was definitely not Craven.  The giant somehow found out that she liked all things that glittered in the light, and from then on, he called her, “Shiny.”

But by the time our company decided to go out and explore Kendrith as a group, we had somehow all elected to refer to call her, “Shadow.”  And she seemed to like it just fine.

Craven and Valzan had a few errands they wanted to run, before investigating about the slavers we had come across.  I heard mention of “books,” so I wanted to go, and wherever I went, Shadow tended to follow.

It was another bright day; I found the weather rather pleasant in comparison to the humid, warm days we had in the swamp.  Shadow walked to and fro behind us, while Valzan and Craven walked ahead.  As usual, I kept my distance from Valzan, but I had to admit he was growing on me.  He treated Shadow and I with the same courtesy he paid Craven.  I still kept my horns tucked away in his presence, whipping my hood up when he approached, but more than once, I had accidentally let my tail peek out while talking to him.  I was getting comfortable around the human, and that troubled me, a little.  Was Valzan the exception, or had it been the humans in my past?

Time and experience would have to tell.  Maybe there was a reason Master didn’t want me to return until a good year had passed.

Not too far from the church, Shadow ended up distracted by sparkling glass shards by the side of the road.  Tail swishing back and forth under the cloak that Elyssia had provided her, she crouched low and fixated on the twinkling remains of what might have been a bottle.

Our party ended up right within reach of a nearby game stall.  There were targets set up, and according to the hawker, if we hit a bulls-eye with a throwing axe, we would get a voucher for a free drink at a local tavern.

I heard “free.”  Considering I had about two silver pieces to my name, that was enough to get my attention.

I waited for Valzan and Craven to play, first.  Craven managed to snag three free drinks!  I was impressed, but not too surprised; the Kalashtar barbarian was huge.

I was, however, surprised when he gave his prizes to Valzan.  Who turned down something that was free?  And Craven didn’t seem particularly wealthy, to me.

When it came to my turn, I did my best, but I clearly had never used a throwing axe, before.  I could hit the targets, but not well enough to win anything.  For my last throw, I could see that it was about to fall just a little too low.  Wanting that stupid coupon, I drew on my Druidcraft and encouraged a light puff of wind to boost the axe up, a little.

I was too encouraging.  The axe ended up blown too high above the target.

"You better not be trying to pull any funny business,” the stall-keeper said suspiciously, looking between the target and I.

Feeling cornered, I forced a laugh.

“Well, if I were going to cheat, you would think I’d be more successful,” I joked, mentally kicking myself for being so eager about a free drink.

The stall-keeper seemed to agree, but I don’t think he completely bought it.  He offered me another try, but I declined; only the first round was free, and it would probably be cheaper to just buy myself my own drink.  Valzan asked the man where we could get information, and he was told that a woman who worked at the tavern where our coupons applied might help us.  Convenient, but good enough for me!

Our next stop was to the library.  I’d never seen so many books in one place, before; I had thought Master had a grand collection, but even all of his tomes would barely take up a shelf.  I was also relieved to see that the librarian was half orc(?).  I hoped humans like Valzan were the rule and not the exception, but I really didn’t want to test it in the library.

Craven walked off in search of books on plagues and blights, of all things.  I opted for herbs.  I was only familiar with swampy things, and it would be nice to see what could be used for healing or poison from local flora.  Shadow followed suit, even finding me a couple books with some excellent diagrams.  Nothing with words, though...I was becoming more certain that she didn’t know how to read or write.  I considered teaching her for a moment, before throwing the idea away.  I wasn’t patient enough to teach, and if she wanted to learn, she was clearly determined enough that she would have made some signs of it.

Still, I wanted her to have something to take from the library.  The books were free.  Everyone should take advantage of free.  I knew she liked shiny things, and Valzan had recently given her a brass bell that she liked, but I asked her what kind of books she wanted.  However, she either didn’t hear or didn’t have time to answer, because Craven took that moment to materialize.

He wanted to know if I knew anything about creeping blights; according to him, the land of his home was slowly dying by some unknown evil.  He said he realized that I was in-tune with nature, and knew about growing things, so he felt that I was his key, or destined to meet him, or something?

He got a bit fuzzy, after that, turning red and tripping over his words.  I thought he was being silly, in an endearing sort of way, and couldn’t help but smile a little.  Shadow, on the other hand, seemed irritated with him, hissing her displeasure.  That seemed to cool Craven off, and rather than let me really respond in any way, the giant lumbered off, muttering to himself as he was wont to do.

I looked at Shadow, and saw that she looked ready to leave the library.  I grabbed a book on healing herbs, and one on poisons, and when the librarian said I could take a third, and snagged a book with a lot of rather beautifully illustrated gemstones.  With my hand, the librarian set some kind of enchantment that would return the books automatically, once a week was up.  I liked it; that would prevent me from accidentally paying late fees, and I wouldn’t need to worry about losing the books.

When we left the library, I handed the book on gems to Shadow.  I had meant well, but from the way she looked at me, she was very clearly offended that I thought she would enjoy a children’s book.

“She’s probably older than she looks,” Valzan pointed out.

I rolled my eyes and tried not to groan, while Shadow moved to the side of the group furthest from me.  It’s not like she mentioned what she did want to check out!  How was I supposed to know!?

I clearly wasn’t doing a good job getting on Shadow’s good side.

And, to add insult to injury, she excepted a shiny marble from Valzan.

“How is that not condescending?!” I exclaimed, while Shadow contentedly added the bauble to a pocket of what I was certain contained a growing collection of shiny things.

Instead of answering, Valzan shrugged dismissively.  The desire to grab a less shiny rock and throw it at his head occurred to me, but instead, we continued to our second stop:  A pet store.

Craven was under the impression that he could find a bear for a pet.  The shopkeeper was surprised, most likely because that seemed more like an exotic/black market kind of pet.  However, when he offered up hedgehogs as an adequate alternative, I was on Craven’s side:  bears are to hedgehogs as falcons are to finches.  They are not equal.

Naturally, Craven got even more upset when the shopkeeper suggested a squirrel, instead. 

To use as bait.

None of us were pleased!  Craven began roaring about what a terrible person the shopkeeper was, and I’m pretty sure when Shadow called him a squirrel murderer, his nose started bleeding.  Valzan ushered us out, but when Craven suggested we return after dark to Free the Enslaved, I readily agreed.  I wanted to Speak to the animals, to see if they were all in danger or just the squirrels, but there wasn’t enough time; already, we were out the door.

It didn’t take us long to reach the top of the hill, finding the tavern where we could redeem Craven’s vouchers was situated.  A creaky sign with the words “Scout’s Mug Bar and Inn” hung over the doorway that we entered, Craven stooping slightly to fit through.  I braced myself for noise, but it was early enough in the day that there weren’t too many patrons.

Shadow moved straight to a table in a secluded corner, dark but safe; I and the rest followed suit.  Craven, of course, immediately ordered every dessert on the menu.  I tried not to let my eyes pop out of my head as plate after plate of confection and pastry were brought by the waitress and placed before him.  I was about to ask how he could possibly eat all of those desserts by himself, when I saw him push all the plates to Shadow.  

...Of course they weren’t just for himself.  I made a note to myself to be a little less snide toward Craven.

Eyeing all the desserts, I surreptitiously slid what looked like a slice of apple pie towards myself.  Shadow didn’t seem to notice.  And while she did have a good appetite, I doubted she could finish everything.  Besides, the pie was warm and smelled heavenly.  I never got to eat anything like this, in the swamp.

Valzan, ever dutiful, was already in the process of asking for Mildred, the woman who would most likely have information for us.  By some stroke of luck, our waitress was Mildred.

Things were coming together smoothly!  Perhaps things would be simple from now on, I thought.

Suddenly, a bang came at the bar’s entrance; someone had slammed open the door.  A dishevelled man rushed in, eyes wild, hands wringing in worry.

...of course it wouldn’t be that easy, I sighed inwardly.

“My daughter!  They took my daughter!” he exclaimed.

I sat up straight, head whipping around to look at the man in surprise.  His daughter?  Taken?  That was awful!  The very idea made me sick.

And yet, for some unfathomable reason, all the patrons of the bar started laughing at the man.

What on earth is going on?

---tbc--

Continuation here!

[50shadesofmittens]

Princess Bride AU

Last list of ideas I finally put down through conversations with the wonderful @coaxionunlimited​

The Princess Bride AU

And Oh GOD this one isn’t even all the details, nor is it in any order so much as a bunch of ideas slapped together

To start I cannot imagine it any way except with Cato Sicarius as Vizzini- more versatile roles include Magnus as Buttercup, CG as Westley and Tzeentch as Humperdink

And yes Cato Sicarius as Vizzini is indeed more important than the roles of our main leads

Part of what makes this idea so much fun is that CG has to find unique creative ways to overcome all the challenges Westley faces- he can’t exactly find a poison that Sicarius’ OP-ness won’t be immune to if he’s also going to be immune

Yes, even promethium-based alcohol won’t cut it

I feel like the only way to beat Sicarius is to do something similar to what Westley did by letting Sicarius’ enthusiasm get him killed

Somehow leading him into a trap

My best guess so far is CG brings up that he once defeated a literal god in contest of Vostroyan-whatever and uses misspoken words to trick Sicarius into thinking the goal of the game is to get to Ultramar- Sicarius would them go to ultramar ASAP before the card game even starts

And Sicarius somehow warps himself there and is this unaware that the challenge hasn’t started, a full galaxy away from where CG and Magnus (in the Box still of course) were left behind

(Alternatively, the deception can be unintentional, as CG genuinely thought that the best way to respond to Sicarius’ long list of achievements was to list a few of his own achievements, which prompted Sicarius to demand to know HOW CG bested a god so he could prove himself by doing the same, and then Sicarius jumped to his own conclusions and portaled to Ultramar while CG was still trying to explain Vostroyan-whatever)

Then Sicarius would probably go brag about winning the contest, which would lead to Calgar learning and being pissed off that Sicarius forgot to bring the Primarch along

By which time CG and Magnus are well into the forest of death if not captured/recaptured by Tzeentch

Despite these roles I imagine Tzeentch as the one screeching Inconcievable! When CG turns out to be alive (again) after torture-death

Instead of a wheelbarrow being what gets them into the castle/into Tzeentch’s realm’s inner sanctum, it’s a camel

This is in a reference to the scene when Westley is just revived when he’s coming up with a plan to get into the castle. First he says it’s impossible, then when he finds out they have access to a wheelbarrow he has a plan (the wheelbarrow being the critical piece), ie this scene: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XeO3jMZphhs

Once Magnus realizes it was CG who he just pushed down a ravine/banished to another dimension/etc he just says “oh shit” before jumping in after

In reference to the ravine/recognition scene https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rzO-sv0mtZ4

My version of the rescue would have less CG lying and more him having found a really really really good psyker scrambler/blocker and being shocked that it works well enough to confuse Magnus, not realizing that Magnus doesn't know who he is until after some hilarious miscommunication

Honestly? I keep seeing Vulcan as Fezzik and Corvus as Inigo

Just based on their personalities

The bit where Inigo gets all drunk and depressed and shouting for his ex-employer to come find him and beating the guards sent to harass him senseless like I can 100% imagine Corvus doing just that

Also Fezzik’s General love of rhymes, and his all around gentle kindness while still not being Soft but also being huge is very Vulcan

And when Fezzik is tending to Inigo by dumbing him in water, imagine Vulcan bringing out a few buckets of lava and Corvus flings himself away screaming “I’m up! I’m up!”

Yes this means Sicarius acted like he was the boss when traveling with two Primarchs because you KNOW he would

Which makes Fucking Horus the six fingered man (who killed Corvus’ father)

And Vulcan's father, but Corvus is the one who’s laser-focused on revenge and has the whole speech planned out

Also in the style of the book (the Princess Bride was a book before it was a movie), I want to go through all the people who were the most beautiful human in the galaxy before Magnus and what happened to them to make them lose their status

In order: the Emperor (died), Sanguinius (died too), Fulgrim (too much drugs & partying with Slaanesh), ANGRON (got daemonified), and a handful of random humans whose lifespans were mortal and thus have died over the centuries naturally

Also I don’t want to spoil the Princess Bride for anyone, but the method Westley uses to defeat Humperdink is very similar to the one I see CG using to finally get Tzeentch off his and Magnus’ backs

Also for Miracle Max I cant help but envision Cegoratch as Max and Ephrael Stern as Max’s wife

That pairing changes the entire tone of all their scenes, but it’s hilarious in its own way so I want to do it

For reference on miracle max and his wife: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d4ftmOI5NnI

Stern is completely deadpan in her delivery. “I smelled deception, so I came out to see if some of the wretches of the fallen sorcerous legion required more destruction to their dust-coated wretches and annoying hats in order to flee. But I see it’s just my husband, making an ass of himself again. Though not unexpected, such a sight is still disappointing.”

*Nervous laughter* “Ah, all guests are reminded that it is none of their business what-”

“One cannot be a guest when one has wed the owner of the property.”

And later when Corvus asks how Stern can be a warrior of the Emperor when she’s married to a Xeno, she first gives a long speech on what she’s learned about various Xenos races and a full explanation of her reasoning behind thinking that miscegenation is in fact furthering the emperor’s will. When Corvus asks for clarity on her marrying a Xeno God she replies:

“HERETIC! I have done no such thing.”

“But you just said that you two were-”

“The only being I will ever acknowledge as a God is the one and only Emperor of Mankind. As recent reports from the Emperor himself dictate, he is a Manemperor, not a god. Therefore, I am an atheist.”

“But... then... what else do you call your husband? What is he, if not a god?”

“A librarian.”

“He’s bringing back the dead!”

“A librarian with a diverse skill-set. Albeit, one that unfortunately excludes the conception of decent punchlines.”

*Note that Stern started attacking Corvus for that accusation after the first ‘HERETIC’ so there’s also fighting hijinks throughout this dialogue*

Now I have a new crack pairing and it’s Ephrael/Cegoratch

Oh and Magnus does find some Primarch-level poison made from Perturabo’s geneseed, which he’s fiddling with when CG makes his dramatic entrance (in reference to the scene where Buttercup is about to stab herself on her wedding night before Westley interrupts)

Granted Magnus’ motives are less loss of true love and more despair after Tzeentch has destroyed any chance of him getting free, and recognizing that any hope he has of getting free is just giving Tzeentch more ways to control him

I feel that the gatekeeper who Fezzik, Inigo and Westley intimidate while storming the castle could be Karstodes. IDK why he’s on team Chaos now, I just love his style of badly trying to lie

Whatever the equivalent of the Rodent of Unusual Size is, Magnus is the one who kills it

[count-demonlord-of-decadence]

THE NEW GIRL (She’s a Natural)

Ishtar Knoxville sat on the walkway one floor above and perpendicular to her family's three bedroom condo. Here she could observe her family's comings and goings discreetly. Not that her family took any notice of her except for when she was in trouble. But she learned early that the lack of attention provided ample opportunities to observe and learn. Ishtar wasn't like the other girls that attended her public high school. All they cared about was clothes, Instagram likes and what kind of cars people drove. When Ishtar was seven, her little brother Giuseppe Jr was born, erasing any presence she had in the family. Her school life was painfully ordinary until middle school when her friends wanted to act all grown. They were suddenly immersed in makeup, boys and social media. Ishtar tried to keep up but her “friends” quickly made it clear she was cramping their style. Ishtar rejected the conformist matriarchy her ”friends” embraced and they made her an object of mockery and ridicule. Ishtar took refuge in the school library, the last place any “cool kid” would be seen.

The last day before winter break of her seventh grade year, Ishtar was exploring a box of used books donated to the school when she discovered a copy of Justine by Marquis de Sade. The librarian told her it was inappropriate for school but didn't mind if she took it home. She read the whole book that very night. She was enamored with the philosophy, violence and sex. For the first time in her life she saw a world free from the superficial bullshit and embraced a life devoted to the pursuit of pleasure. Of course at age 11 her pleasures consisted of reading, candy and masturbation. And read she did. By her first day of high school she'd read every book deemed pornographic and subversive she could download. Her parents were all too happy to get her gift cards as gifts because it was relatively inexpensive and readily available. When her family asked what she was reading she just responded with the current most popular young adult novel. She was packing a bowl of the low quality high priced weed 14 year old girls have to buy when a strange little man knocked on her family's door.

His facial features made him look like a rat, a rat wearing an expensive suit. He seemed out of place in a suit to Ishtar, more of a blue collar man. The cigarette he was smoking didn't seem out of place. Her father, Giuseppe opened the door recognized the man and stepped out, closing the door behind him.

“You outta your fucking mind coming here!?” He exclaimed in hushed tones, unaware that his voice echoed of the walls. “I got kids in there.”

“Oh sorry bother you at your home Giuseppe,” the French accent and added sarcasm made the man's voice slightly more pleasant than nails on a chalkboard, “But you don't return my calls, texts, e-mail or faxes.” Ishtar swallowed a chuckle at that line. “And we need to talk. We've gotten some complaints about your high prices. The Syndicate doesn't mind if you skim a little here and there but you've been marking up the prices and pocketing the difference. Other dealers do the same. And that was cool but now your prices are so high customers are thinking about going to other suppliers. Now the competition knows they could potentially corner the market by simply lowering their prices. Imma tell you the same thing I told the other guys,” he handed him a slip of paper “these are the new prices. Be a good boy and stick to them, or else.”

Giuseppe Knoxville being half black half Italian suffered no disrespect, especially from a man a foot shorter and 75 pounds lighter than himself. But it was the pat on the cheek that set Giuseppe off.  He grabbed the little man by the throat and balls, threatening to toss him over the rail snarling, “Who the fuck you think you are? Come to my house, disrespect me, in front of my kids! You fucking worm! You're just a goddamn go for! A fucking bell boy! I've taken shits with bigger balls than you! Don't ever come at me with no disrespect! Next time your candy ass will be flying to the ground floor!” Giuseppe released the man and stormed back into the condo. The man took 70 seconds to massage his balls and throat before leaving. Ishtar noted it was the coolest thing she'd ever seen her father do.

A week later, Ishtar was sitting in the same spot when the same rat looking man appeared. He wore the “Canadian tuxedo” comfortably with a Dallas Cowboys hat on backwards. Behind him were four eccentrically dressed individuals. The first was an African American wearing a burgundy top hat, tailcoat, dark glasses, and cotton plugs in the nostrils, as if to resemble a corpse dressed and prepared for burial in the Haitian style. The grouped stopped so a rubenesque Asian woman cosplaying as Saya from Blood-C could paint an ornate skull on the Black man’s face. A 6'1" natural blonde woman wearing a Pocahontas costume watched the painting with visible signs of impatience. Ishtar mused that her breast had to be fake. Last was an is immensely tall and and bulky man. He has long, powerful arms and legs, massive hands and feet. He has shoulder-length slick black hair and imposing facial features. He was dressed like pro wrestler Pete Dunne. The face painting completed, the Big guy turned the knob and opened the door. Ishtar knew the door was locked, having locked it nine minutes prior behind her, and surmised he broke the knob with his hand. The five entered and closed the door behind them. Ishtar dashed home. The doorknob was indeed borken when she entered. Before she could take in the scene, the blonde woman closed the the door and stood guard in front of it. Ishtar noted the woman appeared to be in her 40’s and clearly worked out. The big guy had his foot on her fathers left cheek, pinning his face to the floor. He had her father’s arm left torqued up in a such a manner that guaranteed damage. Her mother, Jessie was holding eight year old Giuseppe Jr., covering his eyes and ears. Isis, her older sister had her face pinned against the refrigerator. A kunai pointed at her throat kept her docile.

The Black man squatted, his crotch inches from Giuseppe's face and spoke with an Eastern European accent, “Permit me to introduce myself; my name is Count Demon Lord, leader of the Black Magick Syndicate. It seems you ignored my instructions and disrespected one of my men.”

The big guy released some of the pressure on Guiseppe’s arm so he could speak rationally.

“Please I can get you the money! I’ll apologize! I’ll do anything you say, just don’t hurt my family!”

Demon Lord rolled his eyes and stood up, the big guy added more pressure to the arm until Giuseppe was silent.

“OH, please er… what was his name le Fou?”

“Giuseppe Knoxville” the French rat looking guy replied.

“Right. Now see here Giuseppe this isn’t about the money. We have plenty of that. Hell this isn’t even about the thievery or the disrespect. We’re big fans of that kind of behavior. The truth is we have money and power beyond your wildest dreams. and the boredom that comes along with it. So when le Fou told us of your altercation, we found what we always seek, a flimsy excuse to act on our most deviant desires. So spare us the pleading and begging, we’re not interested. We’re not here to scare you or teach you a lesson. You all are our prey, and no amount of money or words will change that. Accept your fate so that you might entertain us a bit. Teah…”

The big guy took his queue and loudly broke Giuseppe’s humerus. His scream was drowned out by the laughter of the eccentrics.

“le Fou, search this hovel for anything of merit. Teah, break his legs. Zara, bring me that girl.” The rubenesque Asian woman dragged Isis by her dyed blonde hair to Demon Lord. Isis was 20 years old and had the kind of body other women slave in the gym for. Her face has always been described as angelic. She had her own room, but was suppose to move out and college so Ishtar and Giuseppe Jr. wouldn’t have to share. Their parents never pressured her to do so though. Demon Lord had Isis down to her bra and panties with seven strokes of a karambit he had secreted on his person. Giuseppe had his protests silenced by Teah loudly breaking his left tibia, much to the delight of the eccentrics. Giuseppe groaned an idle threat which provoked Teah to break his right femur. Demon Lord was roughly fondling Iris while Jesse, their mother, continued to cover Giuseppe Jr’s eyes and ears; begging for God to deliver them from this ordeal. Isis took this moment to resist, clawing at Demon Lord’s face. His response was a right hook that landed just under her left eye. Isis hit the carpet barely conscious, the bruise already starting to form under her tears. He then sliced off her bra and panties and raped her. Teah held Giuseppe's head, forcing his eyes open so he could watch.

Before he could discharge, le Fou returned with a pillowcase full of items in one hand and a book in the other. Ishtar could see it was her copy of Justine. From the sudden tension in the room Ishtar assumed interrupting Demon Lord’s raping had dire consequences for the interrupting party. Le Fou apologized saying, “Please forgive my rude interruption but I thought you’d find this of merit.” and handed him the book. Demon Lord took the book, his face expressed shock as he stared at the cover. He stood, his erection pointed directly at Ishtar, still staring at the book, “Which one of you animals reads this filth?!” he venomously demanded. The only person who spoke was Jessie, reciting the book of psalms from memory. “Brynhild!” Demon Lord was enraged “Cut pieces off that little boy until I get an answer!”

The blonde woman moved, but Zara grabbed Ishtar by the back of her neck so she couldn’t escape. Brynhild snatched Giuseppe from his mother’s arms effortlessly. She produced a balisong and threatened to cut off the crying boy’s middle finger. Giuseppe was having his broken arm manhandled by Teah. When Demon Lord started to sodomize Iris with his lizard skin shoe did Ishtar proclaim the book was her’s. Demon Lord approached Ishtar, kneeling in front of her asking, “This is your book?”

“Yes.” Ishtar murmured.

“You’ve actually read this?”

“Twice.” she nodded.

“What did you think about it?”

“Well, I like how the characters do whatever they want without fear of any consequences.”

“Have you read the sequel? Juliette, or Vice Amply Rewarded?”

“Yes, I finished it about a month ago.”

“What is your name Child?”

“Ishtar.”

“After a goddess of sex, desire, justice, and political power; perfection. Ishtar, our syndicate is full of libertines who follow the treatises outlined in de Sade’s books. Our money and power allow any action to go unpunished by law enforcement. That’s why no police are coming, none of your neighbors will check on you. I offer you an invitation into our syndicate, and a life of vice amply rewarded. Or you can watch us rape, torture and murder your family and luxuriate in it. But know that revenge and justice belong to the rich and powerful and none are as rich and powerful as us. We’ll never be arrested or tried for this. No one would deign to take our lives on your behalf.”

Ishtar thought it over. Her father was a successful contractor out of high school until three years ago, when he injured his back on the job. But because Giuseppe wasn’t following established safety protocols, the company refused to pay his medical bills. He exhausted their savings on a lawsuit he lost. All because he wanted the world to understand he was a real man, full of arrogance and machismo. In the seven years since Giuseppe Jr was born, Ishtar could count on one hand the number of times her father had a meaningful conversation with her; save holidays, birthdays, and half assed parenting during the commercials of baseball games. His son was the focus of his love and affection. Why should she act in the interests of such a man?

Jessie Knoxville wasn’t Ishtar or Isis’ biological mother. That honor belonged to Isabelle Flores-Knoxville, currently known as Prisoner #97S444. She was convicted 12 years ago for arson in the second degree and two counts of attempted murder for fire bombing a warehouse owned by an alleged racist. Two security guards were present with one dying, though she was found not guilty of one count of murder in the first degree. Sentence: 18 years, eligible for parole in five which was denied for amassing other charges while incarcerated. Jessie Knoxville was a woman who assumed her first two marriages to abusive douchebags were due to her lack of faith in God. Every ill and woe in this world was due one’s poor relationship with God, according to her. She became devout and seven months later she meets Giuseppe Knoxville. After a 298 day courtship they were married, which Jessie believed was God’s blessing on her. Ten months later Giuseppe Jr was born, another miracle she attributed to God because her first two marriages produced no children. God didn’t keep her from gaining 65 lbs from an increasingly sedentary lifestyle since becoming pregnant.

Ishtar wished her sister refused to move about just to spite her, knowing once her room became Ishtar’s, she’d never get it back. But the truth was Giuseppe squandered their college fund on that failed lawsuit, and Isis would throw this in their father’s face whenever Jessie wasn’t in earshot. But that was a smokescreen for Isis did not talent of any kind. Her grades have always been poor, since kindergarten. Jessie and Ishtar have openly pondered if she has an undiagnosed learning deficiency. She couldn’t learn high school cheerleading routines, sing to save her life or act her way through a high school play. She couldn’t paint, draw, sculpt or weave.

She could barely add an app to her phone without assistance.

Giuseppe Jr was only seven and understood his parents would never believe he could sin. Twice his school accused him of vandalism and both times they denied he was capable of such behaviour. Ishtar once accused him of stealing a pair of her panties, but their parents assumed she’d misplaced them. Isis accused him of stealing some money from her and nothing was done. He acted with impunity and at that thought Ishtar had her answer. Thinking upon characters from the books she’d read, she put her hands on her hips and replied, “Vice amply rewarded please.” earning an applause and cheers from the eccentrics.

“Excellent!” Demon Lord mused, “You may have the honor of orchestrating their fates.”

“Do we have to kill them?” Ishtar asked.

“Only if you desire it child. Some fates are worse than death”

“Good. I really want them to suffer and go on suffering. I assume no act is taboo?”

“My child, if one here will not commit the act you envision, we can have someone here who will in thirty minutes.”

“In that case, I want one of you to sodomize my little brother.” Ishtar chose her words so the Giuseppe Jr wouldn’t understand. The eccentrics all looked to Teah, who released the father, licked his lips and took hold of the son. Brynhild took over the job of guarding the father while Demon Lord resumed his raping of Isis. Jessie became hysterical and tried to rush Teah, but Zara stopped her with a quick kick to her liver. By then Teah had the boy naked and on the carpet in front of his father. Teah removed his own clothing, revealing an uncircumcised member as large as Ishtar’s forearm. Using only his spittle as lubricant, Teah violently forced his prick into the boy, pulling his hair to keep his face in his father’s line of sight.

Jessie began to scream about the wrath of God and how vengeance will be his and how they’re all going to Hell. “Le Fou was it?” Ishtar asked of the little man to which he nodded, “Go into my bitch sister’s room, find her dildo and stuff it into my STEP mother’s mouth.”

“I thought these would come in handy.” Le Fou replied producing Isis’ John Holmes Realistic Dildo and a roll of duct tape from the pillow case. Zara zip tied Jessie’s hand behind her back as Le Fou approached. Between the two of them, it only took 50 seconds to get the dildo secured in her mouth.

Ishtar used the basting brush from the kitchen to paint an inverted pentagram on her father’s face with the blood leaking from her brother’s continually violated anus. She then kicked him in the ribs six times before asking someone to castrate him. Brynhild was happy to oblige. Le Fou brought her a fillet knife from the kitchen and helped Ishtar strip and restrain Giuseppe while Brynhild did the deed. Ishtar took her father’s genitalia and put them in the microwave and set it to cook on full power for 29 minutes. Giuseppe fainted from the pain, much to the disgust of the eccentrics.

Ishtar then approached Teah, staring at Jessie as she said, “I want you to discharge in my mouth so I can show these cunts I’m in for well more than a pound.” Teah intensified his thrusting to expedite orgasam. When on the verge, he pulled out so swiftly splattered wherever possible. Ishtar aimed the blood and shit covered member to her mouth. Ishtar was startled by the kinetic energy of the discharge; it’s thickness made it impossible to swallow in two gulps. What she couldn't swallow, she spat in her little brother’s face. Taking this cue, Demon Lord pulled out and discharged his thin, yet plentiful semen all over Giuseppe Jr’s face; the eccentrics applauded.

Ishtar went to the kitchen and returned with a can of insecticide. She handed it to Brynhild and ordered her to shove it in Jessie cunt. Upon hearing this, Jessie offered the fiercest resistance she could, which was futile given her condition. Brynhild laughed as dodged and blocked Jessie’s kicking as a diversion, Teah grabbed her by the neck, picked her up and slammed her back into the armchair only Giuseppe was allowed to sit in. Before she could recover, Brynhild tore her cheap sweat pants and cheap panties off and Teah grabbed her heels and spread her legs as wide as possible. Ishtar took the cap off and opened her mother’s vagina for penetration. Brynhild lubricated the spray can with juices fingered out of Jessie and herself and used both hands to shove it in. She simply whimpered through the ordeal, until the spray activated; then she screamed and thrashed about as best she could. This amused the eccentrics. Teah and Brynhild released her so she could fall to the floor and give birth to the spray can.

Isis began to stir and at Ishtar's command Zara stood her up by her hair and cuffed her behind the back. Ishtar caressed her sister's smooth skin with the flat of the fillet knife as she spoke, “How many times did you call me lesbian, dyke, creep and retarded?”

“Please Ish…”

“How many times did you punch, kick and slap me? Why did you hate me just for being your sister?”

“I'm sorry Ishtar. Please stop…”

“YOU'RE ONLY SORRY TO SAVE YOUR MISERABLE LIFE YOU STUPID FUCKING COW! But I have no plans to murder you, yet. I want you to experience the lesbianism that disgusts you so. Zara, can you make this bitch cum like she never came before?”

“Not my bag babe, but Brynhild can.” Zara shoved Isis into the armchair and spread her legs like Teah had done Jessie as Brynhild knelt and began cunnilingus. Meanwhile Jessie began to make coughing and choking noises in between random spasms. Demon Lord lacerated her left cheek while cutting the tape. He removed the dildo from her mouth and she vomited violently. This brought Giuseppe back to consciousness, who could only wail in pain and despair.

“Yes! Oh my gods yes!” Ishtar shouted. “That sound is what I wanted to hear! The sound of a man being devoured by is despair, his anguish!” Ishtar stripped off her clothing and began frigging her hairy cunt. “Teah,” she commanded, “fuck my father up the ass. Lube it with his whore’s vomit. Le Fou, fuck his whore up the ass. Have them face to face so they can kiss each other. I wish to discharge my fuck upon their faces.” Demon Lord to position behind Zara adding, “This cunt craves prick, and prick it shall have!”

It was arranged and performed as described.

When all save Giuseppe and Jessie had discharged, Ishtar packed a suitcase with her meager belongings. She dressed and departed with the eccentrics. Teah Demon Lord, and Le Fou were in one car, Zara, Brynhild and Ishtar in another. Demon Lord’s group had sped off ahead, and as Ishtar’s group followed the spotted Giuseppe Jr three blocks away. He walked like a zombie, naked and dripping blood from his rectum. Ishtar bade Brynhild pull over and she opened her door saying, “Junior! Thank God you got out of there too! Quickly, get in before they find out we’re gone.” Giuseppe Jr was apprehensive, also seven and in a lot of pain. No one answered any door he knocked on, no passerby offered him help or listened to his pleas. This was the only help offered him since leaving the condo. He took Ishtar’s hand and got in the car. Ishtar closed the door behind him and told Brynhild to drive. The doors loudly locked and they sped to catch up to the other car.

“Relax little brother, everything is gonna be alright from now on.” Ishtar smiled. This brought a cackle from the driver seat. Giuseppe Jr got a good look at Brynhild in the driver seat and panicked. He tried to open the door but couldn’t, the doors had childproof locks.

[samwell-actually]

Holsom Fic-Rec

Although I have my all-time favorite OMGCP fic bookmarked on my Ao3 page, I wanted to compile a master list of all of my favorite OMGCP Ao3 fic to have in one place on my tumblr. And since I’m that neurotic, I thought it might also be nice to break-up each ship as well: 

Two Minutes for Holding | halfabreath One-Shot, 2k Ransom is a team physician and Holster is a referee. They first meet on the ice during a particularly physical Aces v. Falcs game.

not funny | applecrumbledore One-Shot, 9k This whole thing feels so weird, like they're betraying some clause of the homosocial bro code that says it's only for fun, you can't actually be gay, like they're letting someone down. But on the other hand, being with each other is the most natural thing they've ever done. Like a chemical reaction, or two halves of something whole, or one of those hand puzzles where the two pieces of metal are all twisted around each other, or the logical and satisfying conclusion of a really good book.

Score | emmagrant01 One-Shot, 12k Ransom and Holster like to score goals for each other, and they like to take care of each other. It was probably just a matter of time before those two things became entangled.

What I Wanted Was to Fall Asleep | halfabreath One-Shot, 5k The gods are real, which everyone knows, but when they’re not fighting among themselves they’re usually partying and humans have generally learned to accept their meddling without too much complaining. Ransom just never thought he’d actually know someone who’d been god-touched and he never, ever expected that it would be Holster. Alternatively: Holster becomes a tree.

Five Things Adam Birkholtz Learns in HDFS 332: Healthy Couple Relationships | EllyAvon Completed Multi-Chapter, 6k HDFS 332: Healthy Couple Relationships is just the night class Holster is taking with Lardo to fulfill one of his core requirements. He doesn't expect it to drastically change his life. OR: The Weirdest Healthy Relationships PSA Ever. OR: Wholesome Holsom

In a Different Frame | sunfair One-Shot, 4k Holster is determined to become somebody's boyfriend. Too bad he's kind of an idiot. He figures it out, though.

BFFWB | emmagrant01 One-Shot, 7k Ransom's schedule this semester leaves no time for a sex life. Holster has a solution for that. (Set fall 2014)

Seasonal Drinks | rhysiana Completed Multi-Chapter, 1k An AU in which Ransom and Holster never met in college. Thank goodness for the local coffee shop.

someone as good for me as you | astrolesbian One-Shot, 7k “So tell me,” Justin’s mother says, all business, “is your boy going to propose?” “What, Jack?” Justin says, and doesn’t really think much of it, because his mother eats up the details of Jack and Bitty and JackandBitty like Holster eats up rom-coms. His mother sighs, and he can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “No, baby, I meant Adam.”

what is the meaning of this? | kleinergruenerkaktus Multi-Part Series, 13k Ransom has a system, and it was working just fine before Holster came along.

There Were Fireflies | Schuyler One-Shot, 3k Holster has never been weird about shit like this before. They’ve been friends for, what? Almost a decade? And Holster has never said anything bad about guys who date other guys. Hell, they lived in a house with Jack and Bits. But Ransom goes on two dates with a guy and Holster goes ballistic.

blink back to let me know | nighimpossible One-Shot, 4k Justin is a medical student in Boston and Holster is working in New York.Things were a lot easier before they became real people.

Here’s a Man in Evenin’ Clothes | halfabreath One-Shot, 5k Ransom's estimating that they've got another 3.75 hours until the last people trickle out of the Haus. 3.75 hours, 225 minutes.Holster grins, flushed and disheveled and handsome as Justin has ever seen him, and suddenly he knows he's not going to be able to wait another 225 minutes before kissing him. Or: Epikegster toga porn

Keep It | petals42_tumbler (rosepetals42) Completed Multi-Chapter, 18k At the start of their senior year, Ransom is dating March and Holster is okay. Of course he is. Except when he's not.

cabin fever | theghostofjamespotter One-Shot, 5k “Dude. You didn’t score a single goal.” He’s beaming, chin resting on Ransom’s thigh. “And you came in like, under five minutes.” or, the forfeit fifa fic no one has asked for. just bros being bros and somehow accidentally hooking up.

How to Romance a Hockey Player | Tintinnabulation_of_the_Bells One-Shot, 7k After Holster comes out, Ransom needs a plan. A plan to make his best friend fall in love with him. What could possibly go wrong?

the lucky ones | screamlet Completed Multi-Chapter, 17k They made the decision to drive to Myrtle Beach when Holster found the fucking sweetest cottage near the beach.

guard/hit/hammer | halfabreath One-Shot, 2k Justin Oluransi is a gold medalist, and he has no idea what he's doing. (Ransom and Holster's first kiss happens on a tiny couch on the world's biggest stage.)

first love, late spring | lehtonen One-Shot, 12k “Right.” Ransom still looks serious, but there’s a sinister glint in his eye that Holster gloomily recognises as contemplation. “What’s in it for us?”Holster whips his head round to stare at him so fast his neck twinges in three different places. “Nothing is in it for us,” he hisses sotto voce, “or did you not hear the part where we’d be dating?”

Ransom and Holster’s Guide to Shennanigans | Tintinnabulation_of_the_Bells One-Shot, 8k Ransom and Holster have been together since June, but they keep it low key. Maybe even a little too low key. Shenanigans ensue because, hey, it's awfully hard for the team to set them up when they've already been dating for months.

Just bros being bros | blue_eyed, growlery One-Shot, 7k Rans and Holster have a busy semester, so they start planning their bro-time. But its not like they're dating, right?

all my time is yours as is mine | halfabreath One-Shot, 1k No one knows how long Holster's been alive. No one knows how much time Ransom has left. Everyone knows about things. Not everyone has one, but everyone that does has a different word for it. Gifts. Abilities. Talents. Purpose. Superpowers. Quirks. Most things are small, but sometimes, in very rare circumstances, they’re all encompassing and terrifying. There’s a reason Ransom and Holster call them curses.

Give a Little Bit (of Your Time to Me) | Tintinnabulation_of_the_Bells Completed Multi-Chapter, 21k In a world where Adam Birkholtz never went to Samwell, he loses a beer pong bet to Lardo and winds up refereeing a rec hockey game for one freshly broken-hearted Justin Oluransi. For once in his life, Justin is totally out of his league.

Adam Birkholtz's Foolproof Guide to the Perfect Birthday | akadiene One-Shot, 6k On March 28th, 2016, Justin Oluransi, co-captain of the Samwell Men’s Hockey team and love of Holster’s life, is turning 23. It's also the day Holster dies.

Always Halfway to Go | halfabreath Incomplete Multi-Chapter, 33k While at Samwell, Ransom gets a job at the Rec center teaching water aerobics. Generally his class is filled to the brim with old ladies and their husbands, so he’s shocked to arrive at class at the beginning of the semester and find Adam Birkholtz, ex-hockey player, who’s there to supplement his physical therapy with gentle cardio.Things only get more complicated from there.

Detachment Studies | Tiptoe39 Completed Multi-Chapter, 4k A soulmate doesn't always mean a lover. But it does mean an attachment that's hard when it breaks. Luckily, there's the field of detachment studies -- how to mitigate the cognitive damage done when one loses a soulmate. Ransom's going to become a specialist in the field and prove that there's life after detachment. And he's going to practice what he preaches -- by leaving his own soulmate behind.

Salt-Mates | orphan account One-Shot, 4k Losing is dog in the park, Adam Birkholtz is pretty sure he's about to experience his worst day. Until he finds his dog sat quietly with a gorgeous man on a bench, a Harry Potter book in his hand, giving a lecture to the animal about the tragedy that befell Remus Lupin. That's when things get a little bit...strange.

This is Why We’re Medical Proxies | SecretGeniusShittyKnight One-Shot, 4k Holster gets sick. Then he gets a hospital stay. Then he gets high. Then he gets a boyfriend.

pH balance | alcatraz One-Shot, 2k “I can’t believe you have a crush on a white boy who unironically wears cut-off sweatpants,” she says gleefully. “This is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.”

Have We Been Boyfriends This Whole Time? | rhysiana One-Shot, 1k Post-college socializing is harder to organize than Ransom expected. Fortunately, his best bro is there for him. In every way.

Future Perfect | Tintinnabulation_of_the_Bells Completed Multi-Chapter, 14k WANTED: COMMITTED MONOGAMOUS COUPLES Are you and your significant other in a committed, monogamous relationship? Have you been dating for at least six months? Are you living together? If you meet these criteria (and you are at least 18 years old), you may be eligible to participate in a COMPENSATED study (up to $300) on love and decision making. Please call 617-555-7864 or email romance.jenningslab@samwell.edu. The moment he sees the sign, Holster knows he's struck gold. The only problem is, he and Ransom aren't technically dating. But who are romance and technicalities to stand in the way of a business scheme that's bound to go according to plan?

Tailspinners | rhysiana One-Shot, 1k In which Holster runs a literacy non-profit, Ransom is a pediatrician new to town, and Bitty is the Youth Services librarian who brings them together.

don we now our fake romances | DizzyRedhead One-Shot, 4k Justin notices that Holster is looking a little run-down. But there's no problem that their awesome broness can't solve. Right?

wanna be your romeo | leetlebird Completed Multi-Chapter, 50k Holster's always said 'fuck the lax bros,' but when he meets Ransom, a new transfer student on the lacrosse team, Holster realizes he wants to be a gentleman and date a lax bro first. (Ransom doesn't think Holster's too bad, either.) As Ransom and Holster navigate their own secret relationship, their teams band together to get Nursey and Dex to stop fighting by any means necessary - even if that means setting them up on a date. (Romeo and Juliet AU + Much Ado about Nothing AU. Dramatic misunderstandings can only be solved with One Direction, secret make-out sessions, snickerdoodles, Jerry's dates, and - finally - some communication.)

Literary Inspirations | Tintinnabulation_of_the_Bells Multi-Part Series, 15k The possibilities of life are infinite, but time is not. Certain things, like college years, like hockey careers, like the time for your best friend to fall in love with you, have expiration dates. Justin's just afraid he's missed his chance.

the masculinisation and romanticisation of art criticism through the framework of sports-related injuries (or, gross and beautiful) | heyfightme One-Shot, 2k ransom is a gross pre-med hockey boy. holster indulges him. art is created.

The One with All the Kissing | halfabreath One-Shot, 2k In which Holster messes up, gets way more action than he anticipates, and really is Chandler.

The New Ref | rhysiana One-Shot, 1k Ransom is the on-call emergency dentist at the Falconers' games. Holster is the new ref. Lardo and Shitty are matchmaking busybodies.

The World Still Spins | lecrivaineanonyme One-Shot, 5k Justin had first learned about the theory of paradigm shifts back in junior year during his class on the history and philosophy of science. It was just another definition for one of the short answers in the midterm exam: a fundamental change in the basic concepts of and experimental practices within a given scientific discipline. It was a benign factoid to be stored away, something to be revisited in a later essay: compare and contrast the views of Thomas Kuhn and Karl Popper on the scientific process. He hadn’t understood just how jarring such a fundamental shift could be until he broke up with Adam. (Happy ending!)

Homecoming | Tintinnabulation_of_the_Bells One-Shot, 10k Each December, Justin brings Holster home for Christmas. Each time, it means something new.

Division One Defense Duo To Reunite Saturday | the ghostofjamespotter One-Shot, 1k Flyers Defenseman Justin Oluransi will play against Adam Birkholtz of the Pittsburgh Penguins, for the first time since the two were college D-partners.

Bittle Birkholtz Brousins | halfabreath Multi-Part Series, 19k When Eric Bittle is 8 years old his Aunt Judy marries a Northeasterner named Jacob Birkholtz and suddenly he’s not the weirdest cousin anymore, it’s this gangly 12 year old named Adam who Did Not Want to move to Georgia and now they’re stuck in the same town together.

Bull City Blues | rhysiana Incomplete Multi-Chapter, 11k In which Ransom chooses Duke for medical school, the boys move to Durham, and Holster has to figure out what to do with his life.

One Dance | palateens Complete Multi-Chapter, 7k If he remembers any part of them making out and promptly passing out on the couch the next morning, he doesn’t mention it. Justin would rather avoid making things weird with his best friend while he’s still searching for his soulmate. She’s out there somewhere, and she’s everything he’s ever dreamed of.

The Final Rose | Tintinnabulation_of_the_Bells Incomplete Multi-Chapter, 7k Justin Oluransi quits his job and goes on the reality dating TV show The Bachelor looking to find love. It should be simple, but what he finds is nothing he (or Bachelor host Adam Birkholtz) could ever have imagined of in their wildest dreams.

[kristie-rp]

Impressions

Triggers: Sword use, blood, human experimentation mentions

The alarms pulse rhythmically, one, two three; again – one, two, three. It’s obnoxious and irritating. The nearest speaker cuts out with an inelegant puft, shut off by a knife embedded deep in the cone.

Beneath it, a dark haired womans lip twists in distaste. She glares at it, because she isn’t about to scale the wall to rip it out, however much she might want to. She swiped a lab coat in the previous room and the blood can be explained away as a consequence of one of Herontesuto’s experiments – though, in an emergency situation, she doubts even these people would stop to check. She took both the highest and lowest number security passes she could find, assuming one of them will get her into the cells. She’s not worried about the emergency that has scientists scurrying for the evacuation point.

After all – she’s the emergency.

Some security guard near the elevator catches sight of the blood on the lab coat and pulls a gun. Rikku doesn’t hesitate to draw her katana from beneath the coat, slicing the mans throat without a second thought. She steps past him into the elevator and swipes first one card, and then, when that doesn’t work, the other one. The spare goes in the pocket of the coat, which she ditches on the floor, and and one that’s actually useful is pushed into the pocket of her trousers.

There’s no security on the first floor of the cells, but then again, there’s only one thing in a water filled cell. She glances at a particularly inhuman looking merperson with mild interest; the things aren’t dangerous except in deep water, and this one is in a cell that has been turned into an aquarium. They haven’t bothered to make it anything like what the thing would call home; the walls of the cell are bland white. The occupant is half dead – Rikku looks away.

She takes the stairs to the next floor, because she isn’t here for merfolk. She’s also not here for the beings she sees in the cells here: demons who aren’t in human guise, not bothering when trapped or unable due to whatever security Herontesuto has, what must be an infant elemental in a crib surrounded by weeds and plants Rikku cannot be bothered identifying right now, something woody that she’s fairly certain qualifies as a dryad. She’s not here for any of this, and she ignores them, striding down to the next level.

This is, apparently, the labs. She sees advertising emblazoning the walls, Herontesuto and Briggs both, and there is a temporary sign in place on the wall that calls this ‘project I-R.’ She does not know what it stands for and doesn’t have any interest in doing so; the important thing is that this is the sort of technology associated with advanced robotics, which is what her primary focus is here. The rumours and the librarians information suggest that Herontesuto is dabbling in cybernetics and robotics now, hence their alignment with Briggs. All she knows is that this is guaranteed to be trouble, particularly if they, as the librarian insisted was possible, are meddling with free will. Which sounds like an exceptionally Heron thing to do, in all honesty.

Anyone else might consider this place eerie, she thinks. It’s pristine white and cold steel, neon white and blue emergency lights lighting the passages. Even Rikku thinks it’s cold, and has the thought that it’s incredibly unwelcoming. It’s the sort of place people come to die, or to be broken. The doors are steel, electronically locked, which she’s pretty sure is a security risk – what if the power goes down and they end up trapped on one side? – but that is not her problem.

Rikku is going to break all the devices she can find down here, and fry the computers she trusts not to have a backup. Mostly because the librarian said they wouldn’t – she hasn’t bothered to follow the logic. She doesn’t care. It’s the results that matter to her, not the reasoning.

She starts at the end of the hall furthest from the elevator, and works her way back. Right first, then left. She runs into no one, not at first; apparently, this floor was evacuated more efficiently than the others, or perhaps it is more sparsely populated at the best of times. She completes a systematic process of striding into a room, and removing everything. Once it is in the hall, she hacks it apart, leaving it in pieces. She plans to burn it all on her way out.

One of the final rooms doesn’t open to the security thing – it demands additional information she doesn’t have. Rikku frowns at the closed door – her immediate desire is to break in, but she expects it will trigger some sort of security thing that will block off the other rooms somehow. It is better to deal with them first.

She goes to the other side of the hallway and finds a selection of computer pieces, boxes lined with blinking red lights. They break easily. The reception in the next room does, too.

The room next to the door with the locked is fairly bare. It’s smaller than the others, and Rikku wonders if it has been modified, renovated at some point to fit the new theme. There’s a selection of things in the room, including a range of monitors she expects a fan of computers would appreciate more than she does. As it is, she bypasses them, putting them off for later. Something else is more important, right now.

There’s a glass window that looks into another room, and it’s definitely the one she didn’t get into before. It’s bigger than the other rooms, expanded further outwards and eating into the floorplan of the room she’s in now. It’s an observation section, she realizes, considering. More importantly – it’s in use. The computers in that room are still on; she can see the monitors flickering through the glass. And on the table, tilted back like something out of a bad anime – a body.

What she can do, she decides, is investigate, so she draws her katana again and jams the hilt into the glass, one, two, three, four times – until it shatters under the pressure. She vaults up onto the table and uses the weapon to clear the glass from the lower part of the window, because she isn’t about to enable cutting herself if she has to make a hasty retreat – well, not any more. More cautiously, but still quickly, she climbs through. A quick scan reveals the body is alone, and, keeping her sword drawn, she approaches, wary of – something. Anything. After all, she’s in the belly of the beast, now, and she doesn’t know what this is, but it isn’t supernatural. Not with this much excess technology around it.

The body belongs to a man with blonde stubble on his head, clearly shaved, but not recently; more wires connect to him than she has seen in one place before. There are faint burns where she supposes electrodes have been placed in the past, and he’s unclothed, no doubt for ease of access to the scientists. There’s a sponge and a bucket upturned beside him; she crouches down to run a finger through it and finds it on the hot side of tepid, suds disappearing incrementally. Abandoned when she triggered the emergency alarm, then, and not long after. There are more computers in here than in most of the other rooms, at least before combining them – or leaving them in pieces in the hall. They are mostly turned on, an assortment of displays. Medical readings Rikku vaguely knows how to interpret light the room, odd in the emergency lighting. She spies a heartbeat and is forced to do a double take, re-examining the test subject Heron has chosen to violate.

Steel gleams where his left arm should be, is what she sees first. Yes, he’s naked, but it’s clear now that that’s because they wanted easy access to what they had already done, if not to make things worse for what clearly used to be a normal man. They’ve elected to extend the same treatment to his leg, and she’s more certain that was experimental than she is the other thing. An elaborate prosthetic arm is one thing, but for some reason, they’ve only replaced the thigh. Left side, again, from the left hip, to the knee. Rikku’s best guess, when she dwells on it – because it’s so odd that she has to, really, only the upper half of the leg replaced – is that they used him to test a theory that they could reconnect human nerves to electronic wiring. Or perhaps they have only replaced the outer layer, muscle and flesh and skin, and left the bone alone. She reaches with her right to tap the leg, listening to figure out if it’s hollow or contains something she can’t see.

The eyes fly open, startling her, and she launches herself backwards, boots skidding on the tile. One is gleaming with red lights, backlit by some combination of LEDs, and the human one is cast in blue. “Security violation detected,” is what falls out of the mans lips. She expects metallic undertones, but a deep American accent is what she hears instead. He pulls at the restraints that bind him, and she understands that Herontesuto uses the binds strong enough they must be designed by them. But these ones are clearly something different, not like the adamantium and byzantine alloy they use upstairs, and she supposes they decided it was cheaper to use some variant of steel down here, where they operate on humans.

It’s disgusting, is what she thinks, but the man rips his left arm free too soon for her to do anything.

She lifts her katana, adjusting her grip until it is clasped in two hands, instead of one. Technology might be beyond the grasp of her, with her limited patience, but she knows she has options here. She can kill the man before he tears himself free – which he will, she doesn’t doubt – or she can make this a fair fight.

Rikku usually doesn’t give a damn about a fair fight, and this is no different. She figures he is hooked up to the machines around them, directly or otherwise, and makes an executive decision. The blade in her hand slices through the computer at her side, and she rounds on the next one on her path to keep distance, shifting her gaze back to the man with the metal arm.

Only – he stops trying his escape; indeed, he’s convulsing before her eyes. She shifts her grip on the sword again and makes another choice, figuring if he is seizing, then he is rejecting whatever computers are in him. This is the time to execute him, she decides, and raises her blade.

“Kill me,” says the same voice as before, moments after the seizure ends. It’s a groan, if anything, weak and pathetic. There is nothing menacing in it, particularly not as his head lolls forward.

Rikku expects a trap, but the arm – free – hangs limp, now. She raises the katana, presses the tip under his chin and uses it to raise his head. What she sees is miserable, a wretch before her. One eye, the one that had gleamed red, has taken on a soft violet glow. It’s more pleasant to see in the lab conditions, no harsh contrast making it uncomfortable to make eye contact. The other eye, the human one, is indeed blue, somehow at once pale and bright. It widens as it takes her in.

She knows she paints a less than welcoming picture. She’s wearing all black like some morbid model, mostly so the blood doesn’t show. The blood that does show, she doesn’t care about, used to the feeling of it against her throat and hands. Whatever he expects to see, it’s not her. It’s not a woman in black clothes, black hair, with a traditionally Japanese weapon forged in the same byzantine-adamantium alloy that Herontesuto favours.

“If you’re here to kill me,” he says, “get it over with.”

Rikku stares at him for a long, fraught moment, considering. She could kill him – put him out of his misery. Now that she is looking closer, she can see a metal plate in his head, ringed with beads of blood. It’s as though it has been cut open recently and no one has bothered to cover it. It’s disgusting and irresponsible, not to mention at least a little dangerous; they either don’t care about his health or aren’t worried about infection. She’s never liked the way Heron treats their prisoners, but that’s not what stays her hand. It’s the way he swallows, the way  blood pools where the katana bites into his flesh.

She huffs and lowers the blade. “If I were here to kill you, you’d be dead.”

He blinks at her. “You’re not from around here?”

Anyone else in this place might say no shit, but Rikku has not yet taken to American cursing. “Japan,” she says, knowing it’s incredibly obvious.

“Are you – are you actually freeing me?” he asks next, like he’s afraid of the answer. She honestly doesn’t blame him. She chooses not to answer, because it’s a stupid question in any situation – her actions in the next few minutes will answer it, after all, why even bother asking? He seems to figure that out. “There’s a program in the computer – what.”

The what is a direct reaction to her taking the katana to the metal restraints. Things he couldn’t break with raw strength part like butter under her exertion, and he is able to step off the surface he has been propped on for who knows how long. Rikku watches him move; it’s as though he’s testing every step. He keeps glancing down as if to check his legs are still there. And he moves his arm, curls his metal hand into a fist, testing it – things she expects he did constantly during tests, during whatever Heron has done to him. She doesn’t ask. There are better things to do than seek details right now.

He’s bleeding slightly where she’s nicked the skin, but she decides if he turns on her, she can react fast enough to save herself. She collects the equipment from the room and takes it to her collection in the hall, dismantling it with efficient cuts. He looks on in confusion before he finally asks what she’s doing.

“Destroying this,” she says easily. “I intend to burn it.”

He seems surprised by the immediacy of her answer, in all honesty. She lines it up and reaches into her pocket for a match, wishing she had gasoline or something just as flammable. And, it turns out – she does. The man with his metal arm opens a series of cupboards before coming to her with a small collection of oil, intended, most likely, to lubricate his various components. Rikku raises an eyebrow at him, but takes it. She slices off the tops of several cans and allows him to help her drown the remains of the electronics in it, and then, when they’re done, produces a small matchbook from her pocket.

He stops her before she can strike it. “Did you disable the fire system?”

If the delay bothers her, it is hidden by an expert poker face. “Do I look like the kind of person who knows how to do that?”

The pause he takes suggests he’s considering what he knows of her so far: she rescues men with metal limbs, she cuts things excessively, and she wonders the halls of Herontesuto Laboratories alone, covered in blood. “I’ll do it,” he says after a lengthy break, and heads for the elevator. She keeps an eye on him as instinct demands, but all he does is open a panel beside the doors that exposes a digital panel. He then follows a sequence of button presses Rikku will never be able to follow, before finally turning back. “Now.”

She nods and strikes the match she’d produced before, dropping it to the oil. It catches immediately and she steps back, towards the elevator, and towards him. The oil does the job well, and under their gaze, the flames slowly leap higher. True to his words, the smoke alarm isn’t tripped. “You have proven to be quite useful,” she tells him.

“Oh, are you going to keep me around?”

Rikku presses the button to call the elevator, not particularly caring if common sense deems it a bad idea during a fire. “I plan on getting you out of here before I decide anything more.”

“Ah,” he says, as though that makes perfect sense. He’s quiet for a moment longer, before he glances sidelong at her. “Do you have a name?”

She draws her katana again, gripping it loosely in her right hand this time as she turns to look at him. “Rikku Miuro,” she says at last. “Do you?”

“Nathaniel,” is his immediate answer. He pauses, then amends with, “Nano.”

She opens her mouth to ask which it is as the elevator finally reaches them. It opens when a quiet ding, and Rikku immediately drops, knocking Nano aside as gunfire bursts where their heads were. She tightens her hold on the katana, shifts her feet into a position better for launching from. She’s still for a moment, before she lunges forward, intent on her goal.

After all, she’s yet to fail at getting out alive, and she’ll be damned if today is the day she starts.

[kaikumin]

Delivery [Topping #2]

“Hoping for more good days, just hold my hand and smile….”

Shin Yoomi is a struggling student with no living relatives to help support her. She’s lonely, stressed and beyond broke. Enter Jung Hoseok, via a pizza delivery. When the pink haired delivery boy shows up at the wrong dorm room, the pair immediately hit it off, and Yoomi finds herself finally trusting in someone, and maybe even discovers the little piece of hope she was missing, delivered right to her very own door.

pairings: Jung Hoseok (J-Hope) x OC genre: fluff, romance parts: #1 | #2 | #3

"Alright, Yoomi. Go ahead and step off for your thirty minute break."

Yoomi peeked up from the computer screen, giving her boss, Mrs. Choi, a grin. "I'll just check in this last book and then clock out. Thank you."

The older librarian nodded, her ever-serious expression morphing into a small smile, that looked more like a grimace, before she stalked off into her office. "Don't take too long."

And she didn't. She quickly checked in the final book and stood from the counter to make her way to the time clock. After punching out for her meal time, she grabbed her backpack from below the desk and made her way to one of the empty tables in the back of the Library, taking a seat.

She had a History test coming up, and with how loud her neighbors got, it was hard for her to study at her dorm. The only time she managed to find was when she on break at work, and even then it was only 30 minutes.

Without wasting a second, Yoomi got to work on retaking notes and rereading over lectures. History was her least favorite subject, but she was an overachiever with many things, her grades being one, and she refused to let her disinterest in the course prevent her from making good marks.

She got lost in her notes, then, so lost that after the first fifteen minutes of her break, she didn’t even bother to take note of the person sitting down beside her at the table. She ignored it, even though she thought it to be slightly odd considering the Library was deserted and there were four other tables available. She made no action to move until the mystery person suddenly dragged their chair closer to hers, almost so their legs touched. Without even acknowledging them, she scooted her chair as far as she could, to the end of the table, and continued on with her studies.

“Ouch, I’m so hurt you don’t want to sit by me.” She heard a very familiar voice whine, and quickly whipped her head to the side to see none other than, Hoseok, the delivery boy sitting beside her, a pout on his face, though his eyes were most certainly playful. “I suppose I deserve that for not seeking you out sooner, Miss Bunny.”

“Ah, Delivery Boy!” She chirped, her cheeks instantly lighting up.

Truth be told, she was more than slightly disappointed when two weeks had passed with no sign of the pink haired male. Especially since she hadn’t learned his name from their previous encounter, and had no true way of finding him, except for a trip to the pizza place he worked at. But, there were three of those on or near her campus.

“The one and only.” He gave a teasing smirk before rolling his eyes at his own comment. “Well, not really, but yes.”

His banter made Yoomi smile even wider, and she realized just how big of a crush this boy managed to make her have on him. She enjoyed her interaction with him, albeit short, and she couldn’t help but feel some type of attraction.

Hoseok reached over and pulled her chair back, so she was closer to him again, and that made her giggle a bit to herself. “I’m sorry I didn’t come find you any sooner. I went home to visit my Noona. She’s getting married back in Gwangju in a couple of months.”

“Ah, you could have told me.” Yoomi stated, more teasingly than anything, faking a pout. “It would’ve been nice to know sooner.”

Her frown caught Hoseok off guard and he sat up straight in his seat, holding his hands up. “Shit, I’m really sorry. I didn’t think you’d be offended by. I should have said some-” He stopped rambling when she cracked and smile, narrowing his eyes at her. “Ayy, that’s not very nice. Here I was feeling genuinely bad about it.”

She attempted to keep her straight facade up and shrugged, nudging his shoulder away with her hand. “Sorry.”

“Is this your way of flirting with me?” Hoseok suddenly asked, leaning forward to rest his elbow on the table and look at her. “Because it’s working.”

Despite feeling embarrassed by his words, Yoomi shrugged again and mirrored his actions, resting on her own elbow and looking back at him. “Maybe.”

Yoomi had no idea where this ability to flirt came from, seeing as how she had absolutely no experience whatsoever. But, she decided not to worry too much about it, crediting it to the fact that for the first time in her life, she found a boy she was interested in.

Hoseok chuckled, a deep chuckle that sent foreign shivers down Yoomi’s spine, and his voice became huskier as he spoke, giving her body tingles. “I like it.”

She wanted to respond with ‘I like you.’ but knew that maybe it was too soon to say something like that, even if she felt an immediate connection and raw attraction the male before her.

Luckily enough, she didn’t have to respond because Mrs. Choi came out of her office then, and call out to her in a hushed whisper. “You have five minutes left to wrap everything up and get back to work.”

Her voice startled Hoseok and he jumped slightly in his seat, turning to look back at the office that the older woman had just shut the door to, her back retreating. “She seems like a pleasant one to work with.”

Yoomi smiled and shook her head, standing to gather her belongings. “She’s not too bad. It’s quiet around her most of the time.”

“I’m sorry for taking up so much of your break time.” He frowned, getting up as well to help her. “You were studying, too.”

She dismissed his apology immediately, waving it off and smiling. “No, don’t worry. I enjoyed the company. I don’t get to have much very often”

Or at all, since I have no friends. She thought to herself, figuring it would probably be better to keep such depressing thoughts to herself, rather than speak them aloud. She certainly didn’t want to scare the boy away.

“Well, since I know where you work now, then I’ll definitely be visiting the Library more often.” Hoseok gave her a lopsided grin, reaching forward to pinch her nose. “How would you feel if I asked you out?”

“Asked me out?” Her heart pounded in her chest after the words left his mouth, her body heating up like a fire pit. “You mean, like a date?”

He nodded, his grin furthering even more. “Yes, exactly like a date. Or not, if you don’t want it to be. I’d like to hang out with you more either way, but it doesn’t have to be as a date.”

Yoomi didn’t think she could blush anymore than she was in that moment, but she didn’t let the embarrassment stop her from flirting even further. “And if I do want it to be a date?”

“A date it is.” He replied with that same husky voice, his grin turning yet again into the teasing smirk that she wondered might be the death of her, one day. “I get off of work at 4 on Saturday, so if you don’t mind eating dinner with me, we could grab a bite and then I can take you some place special just off campus.”

“That sounds lovely.”

Hoseok ruffled her hair at that, before stepping away to allow her to get back to work. She made her way to the desk, but before he stepped completely out the doors, he called back to her, his words making her flush even more.

“I’ll see you Saturday, Miss Bunny!”