#and yet look at the buffoons heading for the White House

[thatfantasylovingdork]

God, I’m getting a flashback to the first few episodes of the G1 Transformers cartoon, and there’s a scene where Spike says Optimus would be a good president….

AND YOU KNOW WHAT, THAT KID WAS FREAKING RIGHT.

Optimus can admit when he’s wrong, which a lot of adults seem unable to do, and he believes in freedom for all sentient creatures. He also usually is good at making relatively fair judgments (we aren’t counting the time he let Megatron beat up Starscream because Starscream almost blew up the earth). God, if more men were like Optimus I think the world would be a better place.

HOW THE FRACK IS A CARTOON CHARACTER MADE TO SELL ACTION FIGURES A BETTER PERSON THAN THE INCOMING PRESIDENTIAL ASSIGNMENTS. *sob*

[clangenrising]

Month 17 - Greenleaf

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Sardine was having a tough week. 

On top of all of the minor things the Speaker had to keep track of - settling disputes among the Exalted, keeping the peace, ensuring that the Chaff were placated enough - he had been juggling Rudy and Bella’s nonsense back and forth with almost no free time for himself. It almost seemed like they were conspiring to run him ragged. Now, he and Oreo were trudging back to his yard after breaking up a Skyraider meeting where there had been talk about ‘even standing’ for the Chaff and the Exalted, a ridiculous idea he had swiftly and forcefully quashed.

It was exhausting, though - the third meeting this month of its kind. What on earth had gotten into cats’ heads lately? 

Bitterly, he grumbled to himself, “Absolutely ridiculous. Razor never had to deal with this shit.”

“Razor was a leader,” Oreo shot back. 

Sardine’s tail bristled and he slowly twisted his head towards the larger tom, a poisonous smile on his face. “What are you implying, friend?” They stopped in the shade of a young maple tree that was wilting away in the heat, the shadows playing over their faces in jagged contrast.

“You aren’t commanding enough,” Oreo didn’t flinch away from his challenge, blood still staining the white fur on his chest. “You scheme and you persuade but you don’t lead.” 

Sardine bared his teeth. “How dare you? I am twice the leader Razor was. That buffoon hadn’t the slightest ounce of self restraint and it got him killed. He was a brute! I’m a statesman!” He lashed his tail for good measure. Oreo’s dour expression never changed, his misshapen left eye boring into Sardine. 

“I didn’t run from the battle where he died,” Oreo said and Sardine flinched a bit. 

“I was making sure that there would be a Speaker when the fight was over,” he snapped. “I am thinking ahead, unlike every other cat in this fucking city!” 

“Then why isn’t Rudy dead yet?” Oreo loomed over him, “You’re scared. You know you can’t beat him.”

“I’m not scared of that notch-eared oaf!” Sardine hissed, insulted by the very idea. “He’s a nuisance, nothing more. Him and all of his filthy street friends, they’re gnats buzzing in my ear. If I wanted to kill him, he would be dead. I’d much rather break him and make him show me his belly. I kill him now, he’s a martyr, I make him bow, he’s a failure.” He scoffed and looked Oreo up and down. “I’m looking to the future. You should do the same.” 

There was a moment of silence, the shadows from the leaves swaying over their faces. 

Then Oreo spoke. “If I had said that to Razor, he would have given me a new scar, not a tirade. That’s your problem: all you know how to do is talk and cats can tell you’re weak.” 

In that moment, Sardine considered striking him across the face to see how he would like it. Why don’t I take your other eye? he thought, Will you still complain once you’re a pathetic invalid? But he resisted the temptation. He reasoned that he wasn’t going to let Oreo bait him into acting impulsively and tried to pretend he wasn’t afraid of what Oreo would do in retaliation, what that would do to his reputation.

“For the tom who abdicated, you seem to have a lot of opinions on how I do things,” Sardine growled, swallowing down his rage. 

“Do what you want,” Oreo said darkly. “I’m just calling it like I see it.” And with that, Oreo turned and walked away, leaving Sardine alone under the shadow of the maple tree. 

Sardine took a deep, slow breath to calm himself. That interaction had not gone particularly well. There was no denying that Oreo held the majority of the power in their relationship despite Sardine’s title as the Speaker. It didn’t seem likely that he would be able to earn Oreo’s respect at this point. He was going to need more loyal subordinates if he wanted to maintain his hold on power in the city. 

It was for that reason that he turned away from the path home and briskly made his way to Mystique’s house. He’d tried to contact her ever since he’d received word that she’d returned to the city but her Folk had been keeping her inside and his attempts to get her attention had only resulted in them coming out with a spray bottle to chasten him. Still, Sardine was nothing if not persistent and he knew that if he kept coming around he would eventually be able to speak with her. 

It seemed that luck was on his side today. A blue ball of fur sat curled in a sunbeam against the sliding glass doors. Smiling, Sardine slank across the lawn towards the glass, announcing himself with a small meow. Mystique lifted her head to look at him and frowned.  

“Afternoon, Mystique,” he said, keeping his composure. “I’m glad to see you back safely.” 

“What do you want, Sardine?” she asked, sounding fed up already. Not ideal. 

“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said, then, more somberly, “and to give you my condolences. I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose your brother in the way that you did.” 

Mystique’s lip curled in a snarl. “Don’t talk to me about my brother. He deserved what he got.” That was not the kind of response Sardine had been expecting. 

He tried to pivot as smoothly as possible. “I wasn’t going to say so myself but I admittedly agree. I’ve been trying to do better in his stead. If there’s anything I can do for you, just say the word. I am at your service.” He dipped his head politely. 

“Leave me alone, Sardine,” she hissed. “You’re worse than the Clan cats. At least they were all honest with me.” 

Sardine’s ears twitched forward with interest. “I see. Well then, to be completely honest, I am very curious about the nature of your time with them. Were you there of your own free will?” That would be an interesting development, he thought. Had she followed Gingersnap’s lead and gone native? 

“At first,” she huffed, dropping her head dourly onto her paws, “but when I wanted to leave they held me prisoner.” Her tail lashed side to side as she spoke.

“The barbarians,” he growled. “I can assure you, Mystique, I will make them suffer for anything they did to you.” 

“Did I ask you to do that?” she hissed, glaring at him. “They’re just cats. If you really want to make me feel better, then piss off and never come back, alright?” Sardine’s tail twitched in irritation. Razor had always been too lenient with his sister and it had clearly gone to her head. No cat should speak to him that way. Still, he kept his cool. 

“I just want to help you, Mystique,” he said gently. “I know what happened was probably frightening and I know I’ll never really understand, but I want you to feel safe again. I’m sorry if my attempt missed the mark.” 

Mystique looked askance, then glanced back at him, then away. “I’m tired, alright? Leave me alone.” 

“As you wish,” he said. “But please, if you need anything, tell me. I owe you that much for failing to help you while you needed me.” 

“I didn’t need you,” she huffed and he thought he saw something deeply sad underneath her facade. 

“You needed someone,” he said, stepping close to the glass so he could keep his voice low. “You needed someone and no one was there. As Speaker, I should have been there for you and I’m sorry.” And there it was, the sadness underneath. It flooded over every emotion on her face like a street with a clogged drain, looking like it threatened to swallow her whole. He bit his lip to keep himself from smiling at his success. 

“Thank you…” she sniffled after a moment - typical, emotional woman. “I… I’m just tired. I want this to be over already.” 

“I’ll do what I can,” he said. “Perhaps you could tell me more about your time with the savages - when you’re feeling better, of course. It could help.” 

She side eyed him, seeming reserved, and said, “Alright. Maybe. But I won’t help you kill them. There’s been too much killing already…” She looked down at her paws and sniffed hard, tears starting to bead in her eyes. 

“I understand,” he said. “I’ll come by in a few days and see how you’re feeling then, alright?” She nodded. Taking that as a success, he stepped away and headed for the fence. That was something. Something Bella and Rudy didn’t have. Something to show Oreo exactly how powerful “talking” could be.

[knockyasocksoff2022]

The Train PT 2 - NAKAHARA

| 2,740 words |

I wonder if he'll listen.

Maybe.

Or maybe I'll find him hung from the ceiling by an exorbitantly priced necktie.

Maybe . . .

Dazai always has a way of surprising me. He's stubborn and acts like a buffoon and knows exactly how to for a person's deepest insecurities with his insults, yet somehow, when we're in the training room doing two-on-ones (they always pair us together) he gets his act together and it's like something out of a dream. A violent bloody dream. 

Fighting with him by my side and just fighting him in general gets my blood pumping. Fighting him makes me feel alive.

I guess when I kicked the wall I accidentally knocked some mechanism because a mirror slid out from behind the wardrobe.

In it, I see myself still wearing the clothes he gave me.

The clothes.

I had so expected him to laugh at me, to tell me that I must be so useless at fighting because I'm a girl or to gloat that he finally figured out why I'm so short but instead, I got this and I have no idea what the hell to think about it. The insults will come later, surely. There's no way I'm getting off this easy. I'll try to enjoy the peace, for now, but it's creeping me out.

I try not to think about it, and when I get it out of my head, another less pleasant thought enters. My chest hurts. Binders are widely available because a lot of the girls in career districts don't want the hassle during training, but I've always been secretive about getting mine and I know I've had this one for too long. Still, I like wearing it more than not.

I take a deep breath as a test. It hurts. That should not be happening.

Reluctantly, I give in. Slowly as I can, I unbutton the shirt, staring at my stomach for a moment, then I close my eyes and carefully remove the restrictive garment. An inadvertent sigh of relief escapes me. I feel better than I have all morning, and I know it'll go away as soon as I open my eyes. So I don't, I fumble around for the first shirt I find, a tee shirt, by the feel of it, and throw it on.

When I know I won't have to look at myself, I open my eyes. Other than my chest, I look much the same as usual. It's comforting, but my chest still aches. A horrid thought hits me. There's no way I can wear that thing to the games. If they'd even let me. I think they would, but I can't exert myself in that. I barely manage in training.

"Crap."

I let myself fall back onto the soft bed. When I land I notice a green call button. There's a booklet beside it. The first pages are food and drinks, but the last page has a list of medications. Basic things for fevers, headaches, and congestion. I press the button.

"Um, excuse me. Could I get some pain reliever . . . for back pain, please?"

"Of course, Miss Nakahara. Is just water fine, or would you like something else?"

I unclench my jaw, "Water is fine, thank you."

"Alright. Coming right up. Feel better ma'am."

I wince. He's already hung up, and I know there's no point in yelling anyway. I slam my hand down on the nightstand anyway.

Not even a minute later there's a knock. A man in a white uniform holds a tray with a single pill and a glass of water. I'm not even sure if he's the same one from the phone, but I snatch the tray, spilling some water and slam the door. He catches it with his hand so it shuts silently before he goes. I feel myself grinding my teeth again.

Whatever. Just ignore it. Just ignore it. Just ignore it. He's not trying to be rude, he's just never had two male tributes before. Legally, it isn't possible. Yet, here I am.

I swallow the pill dry.

It makes me a bit drowsy, but I fight it.

I would ask for some quality sketch paper (I bet they have it), but I don't feel like calling again, so I settle for defacing the books with sketches of Two with the single number two pencil that was on the desk. The grey quarries, the grey mines, the grey houses, the grey training room. All grey. Victor's village. Ane-san. Kyouka. 

By the time I finish, an announcement echoes through the train that it's lunchtime. I'm not sure how anyone could be hungry when we ate breakfast only two hours ago, but maybe it's in case someone abstained from breakfast. Or maybe it's just the excess I've always heard about being so common in the Capitol. Yeah, probably.

I don't want to leave my compartment. I don't want anyone to see me like this, but I might as well get used to it. The thought of my entire district, my friends, seeing me like this on national television makes me sick. I could ask Dazai for a jumper or something, but I'm not going to go and beg him for anything. I will not put myself at his or anyone else's feet. I'd like to put off his teasing for as long as possible. I'm a big boy. I can do it.

As it turns out, the dining car is almost empty, the only other person being our district escort. He munches on some type of sweet. I stare at him. He looks well-fed. He looks somewhat wealthy. He looks happy. He's a man who likes men and they let him be happy. He even has a boyfriend.

I used to think that maybe it would be okay. I used to think that maybe I could stay presenting as a female and find some nice guy, to marry, maybe even have children, but that was when being an adult seemed so far away, unreal. Before I turned 10, it became unbearable. I'd much rather be alone than suffocate myself in femininity. I tried. And I almost choked. I am never ever doing it again.

Jealousy burns within me. I can't hate him though, not for just existing. That would be like someone hating me just because I happen to like men but don't identify as a woman. I'm a big boy. I can be mature, even if it sends my blood boiling to do so. I can endure the pain. I've had worse. It's not his fault the districts are somewhat homophobic. It's not his fault we've been pushed so hard that homosexuality is forbidden in most districts and frowned upon in the ones where it is legal, just to keep the birth rates up. That blame can fall solely on Doestovsky's shoulders. God, I want to kill him!

Instead, I sit down, as far away from Edogawa as I can. He looks up, smiling. He has an eye smile. He's cute, and in shape despite the fact that whenever I see him he's eating sweets. I'm not sure how he does it. A medical procedure, maybe? His glossy messy black hair and male lolita outfit are charming. He's the kind of guy who's cute with the potential to be smoking hot. The cutesy aesthetic isn't my thing, but I can see the appeal.

The food looks so good that I can't resist, and I end up making a plate of roasted vegetables. Fresh in a way that nothing in Two is. The soil is rocky so it's hard to grow food and what we do grow always tastes dusty, like you're getting a bit of ground-up rock when you eat.

Nobody else comes for lunch.

I go back to my compartment and continue my minor vandalism.

I don't have much for dinner, but I force myself to eat something. No matter what kind of Arena they chuck us into, I'll have to work for food, so I may as well get what I can now. Thinking the same will be true for sleep, I change and go straight to bed after I'm done eating.

At 22:30, someone knocks on my door.

"Who is it?"

"Not Dazai," Edogawa says.

"Good. What's going on?"

"We get to the station in 30 minutes. There probably won't be too many cameras this late, but there's always some, so change if you want."

"Cool. . . . And, uh, where's Dazai."

"Sleeping."

"Sleeping?"

"Yeah, it is very late, after all."

" . . . Yeah."

I didn't think the guy slept at all. Back home, no matter when I decided to put in extra training, either before dawn or after dusk, he was always there. Always. Always running through his already perfect sequences and butchering the targets beyond repair. Always leaving an almost beautiful sort of disaster in his wake.

Edogawa's footsteps retreat elsewhere, and I hear distant voices. I think he's waking Fukuzawa. I search for an outfit to wear that won't require my too-small binder. I find a tee shirt, one of the ones Dazai gave me. 

Why is it so long?

I'm sure it fits that damn beanpole just fine, but what the hell is this? Whatever.

Huffing and still mostly asleep, I sort through the trousers, they all feel too formal for late at night. All that's left is a pair of girls' short trousers. They're black, made of a thick, but light, fabric, and I won't have to wear a belt.

Slowly I put them on. They're a lot shorter than I thought they would be, coming only to my lower thighs, and the shirt doesn't help. Normally I'd never even think of wearing something like this, but it's not like they don't look good, so fuck it I guess.

Through my blinds, I see Fukuzawa knocking and go to open the door. He chuckles at my outfit. I'm still about half asleep so I don't react.

"Dazai is probably asleep, wait here, I'll go get him. We'll all get off together."

"Sure."

I watch as he swipes a key and unlocks Dazai's door. I can't help being curious because I know that the Dazai I see isn't the real one. It's one of the many personalities he's adopted over the years and that just makes me want to pry him open and see what's underneath.

I stand a little behind Fukuzawa. Dazai seems to wake up as soon as we enter despite neither of us making any noise. He looks me up and down, with a smirk that seems different from his usual arrogant smirk. I have no idea what's going on inside his head, but his gaze seems to linger on my legs. Probably deciding whether or not I'll kill him if he makes a joke. I'm still debating it myself.

After a second he gets up, leading the way down the corridor. He's still fully dressed in a white shirt, black trousers, black dress shoes, and that black trench coat he's always wearing. The coat swishes behind him like a cape. 

We step out into the clear night air only greeted by five reporters. The sight of them makes me seethe. The entire scene is too calm, too erie and it sets me on edge.

Control yourself dammit. You are fine. I clench my fist at my side and it brushes against something. Dazai's hand, which hangs loosely at his side. He gives a look only someone who's known him for at least seven years is a smile. To most, he'd look fully awake, but I can see the hazy softness around the corners of his eyes. He still looks flat though, alive but dead. He's walking unusually close to me. I shrug it off. I need to focus on hiding my defiance before it gets someone I care about hurt.

I smirk at the nearest report, a man whose age I can't tell. Capitol people are like that, weirdly ageless. Dazai follows me, giving a careful grin meant to look careless. He looks like a hungry leopard. So much so, that for a moment I'm worried he'll go full cannibal and eat the woman in the red night dress.

The sick part of me that's still deep in my nightmares says that might be kind of hot. (Not because it's Dazai, not at all. No way! I just mean the full-on feral desperate mania of seeing a person dig their teeth into another human's flesh.) But I can wait until the games for cannibalism.

-

District Two's floor reminds me of that cave inside the waterful from a few games ago. A high mountain with a waterfall going down one of its faces. Two of the tributes turned on each other under the water. They drew their weapons at the same time and down their bodies fell, down, down, down into the river. Not a peaceful death. Dazai hates pain. I wonder how he will end it. Pills? A stolen gun? Drowning?

Now that we're alone, he looks around, his eyes sharpening, no longer kind (they're never kind), but analysing, missing nothing. When he looks at me though, all I can see is a sad broken boy. I know I'd hate him for thinking of me like that. Does he care at all what I think? Do I care if he does? I'm way too tired for questions like these.

Desperate to change the mood, I imitate a bat, using a blanket. I swear I see him smile as Fukuzawa drags him off. It's always been easier for us, to use our bodies to communicate rather than talking. (I swear I've read somewhere about pictures being more valuable than words, or was that actions? I'm not sure, but either works.)

Now I'm alone with Edogawa again.

"Well, whaddya think?" he asks it, but I can tell that he doesn't truly expect an answer.

"It feels like the quarries back home."

He smiles, "Cool! Well, if you're all settled. I've got to go. Ed and I are having a midnight picnic tonight! It's something of a tradition we have before the games."

"That's . . . nice." I want to say so much more, something much crueller, but what would that accomplish. It feels wrong to make someone like him cry.

"I know, there's supposed to be a meteor shower on Tuesday, you and Osamu should keep an eye out."

"Yeah . . ." I trail off uncertainly, "Oh, where's my room."

"Just there." he points to a small corridor I'd have almost missed.

"Thank you."

"Yup! I'll see you first thing tomorrow, bright and early!" He's all smiles as he turns to go. He looks so happy, so fulfilled that I have to ask.

"Hey!"

"Yeah?"

" . . ."

"I haven't got all night. Hurry up."

"Yeah, sorry, it's just, never mind."

He softens, "I am your escort. It is my job to make your stay comfortable and tell you what you need to know. Feel free to ask . . . anything."

I swallow, taking a deep breath. Just get your shit together and say it already. "When did you first realise you liked guys?"

"Oh? Is that all? Silly, Nakahara-kun! The truth is I've never thought about romance at all, or I didn't until I met Edgar in my last year of high school six years ago. He's the first one I've felt this way about. So when I was 17."

"You're sure you're . . ." I hesitate on the word. It feels foreign in my mouth, forbidden. "homosexual?"

"No, but I've never loved anyone else. And I know I love Edgar, so I don't really care."

"How did you know? That you liked him, I mean."

"Oh, I don't know. I just felt that he was one of the few people, if not the only one, who could truly understand me and entertain me. I found myself craving his company and missing him terribly when we were apart. We found ourselves staying over at each other's houses more and more often. I'm not exactly sure when it became 'official' but we both had a mutual realisation, I think and it just happened."

"That's . . . beautiful."

Edogawa giggles, turning on his heel, "Thank you, see you bright and early for the parade tomorrow!"

As he walks away I wonder why I even asked. Of course, his love story was perfect . . . and has absolutely no relevance to mine, because I'll never have one. And that's fine.

-

My room is huge, empty, and the bed is too soft so it takes me an hour to get back to sleep. I try not to think about tomorrow. Is Osamu asleep already? Is he dreading it too, or will the teasing finally come?

I'm trying not to gag when I finally close my eyes.

The Hunger Games | soukoku |

Dazai and Chuuya are from District 2. Fukuzawa is their mentor who never talks about his games. Ranpo is their District Escort. Dostovesky is the President. Nikolai is a Telvision show host. All is great in Panem. Why do you ask?

(This fic includes Trans female to male Chuuya. If you don't like it, just don't read it.)

[7-wonders]

Hardships Unnumbered

Summary: The quest to save Julia begins, but not everything is as it seems in this mystical land.

Word Count: 1969

A/N: Hi friends! This is the second chapter of my Labyrinth King!Michael AU fic, "It's Only Forever." I'll link the first chapter down below. I hope that you enjoy and, as always, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.

(also there's a couple of little easter eggs/one big one and I'm really excited to see who figures them out)

Chapter One

Though you put your hands out in front of you to brace yourself, it doesn’t help you to discern which way is up and which way is down until you finally stop rolling. With a groan, you shove yourself up to your feet. Your palms are scraped and slightly bleeding, your jeans are torn at the knees, and leaves and twigs now adorn your hair. All in all, this is not the way you had hoped to start this mission to get Julia back.

Now that you’re already at the bottom of the hill, it’s easier to decide how to start this jaunt through the Labyrinth. After all, you certainly can’t go back up, and the solid ground beneath your feet only leads one way. The shining spires of Michael's castle at the center of the maze, closer than you had thought, rise high above you and act as a compass. All factors considered, you can definitely run this in a couple of hours. Then, once you’re both safely out of here, your first order of business is to call the cops.

Your confidence begins to fade the longer that you walk along with the wall separating you from the inside of the maze. There’s no door, or arch, or opening anywhere to be seen. Turning around, you look back to see if you’ve missed the entrance. Instead of finding one, movement catches your eye. A man, tall and willowy, cries out victoriously at something trapped under his foot. He seems to be your best bet, and you decide to approach him.

“Excuse me?” you say.

The man startles, obviously not expecting to see anybody here. “Oh!” he cries in surprise, looking at you as if you’re the first person to ever cross his path. His hair is bleached to look almost white, and he has a pair of oddly-shaped sunglasses with purple lenses covering his eyes. The checkered jumpsuit, complete with ruffles on the shoulders, both does and doesn’t go with the sunglasses. You’re not quite sure why the people that live here dress so funny, but it’s making you feel underdressed.

“Which way do I go to get into the Labyrinth?”

“Now, why would I tell you that?”

“Because you must have come from there,” you pause, looking down at the man’s foot when you hear a squeaking, “oh! Is that a fairy?”

“Mhm.” Your childlike wonder is abruptly swept out from under you when he kicks the small, blue creature into the forest.

“Why did you do that? That wasn’t very nice!”

“Go ahead and pick one up,” the man says, “you’ll see how nice they are when you’re missing a finger.” As if to prove his point, a fairy flies up to you and hisses in your face, showing off two rows of razor sharp teeth. “What is it that you wanted, again?”

You huff. “To know which way to go to get into the Labyrinth.”

“Did you try asking it?”

“I’m sorry, what?” You roll your eyes in disbelief before mocking him. “‘Labyrinth, please let me in!’ Is that what I should say?”

He doesn’t have to respond, for a sudden rumbling has you turning around. To your shock, there’s suddenly an open space in the wall that hadn’t been there just a second ago.

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m Gallant.” You want to tell him that you weren’t guessing his name, you don’t even want to know his name, but he continues. “Who are you?”

“(Y/N).”

“Ah, that’s right.” So this is one of Michael’s ‘subjects?’ After all, if your dreams have been right (and you’re still half-convinced this is just the elaborate scheme of some unhinged weirdo and not magic, despite what you just saw), then that means that Michael is also the ruler of the Underworld. With that logic, Gallant must be some sort of a demon. If that’s the case, you certainly don’t want anything to do with him.

“Well,” you say awkwardly, “I’m going to go now. Running on limited time, and all that.”

“You’re just going to go in there? Alone?”

“Yep.”

“But--but the Labyrinth leads to the Labyrinth King!”

“That’s kind of the whole reason why I’m here.”

“You’re going to get hurt in there.” Gallant gasps. “You could even die in there!”

You set your shoulders, walking to the hole in the wall and glancing back. “I won’t, but thanks for the concern.”

“Wait!” Even if you did want to listen to what he had to say, you couldn’t, for the wall closes back up on itself the moment you step through it. Mildly jarred though you may be, there’s not much you can do to change this, so you turn around and try to figure out whether to go right or left. Both directions look exactly the same, so with the flip of a mental coin, you go right.

After both walking and jogging for what must have been over a mile, you’re no closer to any sort of landmark that would tell you where you are or how close you are to the castle. There haven’t even been any corners to turn past, just one long, unending aisle. You’re starting to feel a little claustrophobic as you finally come to a stop, needing to take a break for a minute. Sinking down against the wall into a sitting position, you find yourself looking back and forth down the path. Both directions look exactly the same, for as far as you can see. You groan dejectedly and put your head in your hands, allowing yourself a moment of pity before getting up and trying again.

“Hey there!”

You jump at the sudden Southern-sounding voice. “Who’s there?”

“Me, of course!”

Looking around, you see a small door just to your left, and a small woman, probably less than a foot tall, standing next to you. Her curly blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail, showing off her pointy ears. “And you’re...talking to me?”

“There’s nobody else around, is there?” The woman glances inside the open door. “‘Cept the missus, of course.”

Another woman, also blonde, pokes her head outside and smiles up at you. “Hello!”

“Why don’t ya come inside for a while? ‘Delia makes a killer gumbo.”

“Uh...no thanks. I’m just taking a break for a moment before I find a way to the castle.”

The woman’s face turns severe, and she holds her shawl tighter around herself. “You must be awfully brave if you’re so determined to go up there.”

Brave? You wouldn’t call yourself brave. Stupid, maybe, for bowing to the whims of the guy who’s kidnapped your charge, but not brave.

“But anyways, just go through the wall across from us and you’ll be on your way.”

You look in front of you to see the solid wall. “Through there?”

She nods.

Logic is telling you that this is obviously false, but, considering the same thing happened with Gallant, it can’t hurt to try. Standing up, you cautiously put your hand up to the wall, expecting to meet, well, a wall. Instead, you almost fall through a doorway that leads to another passage in the Labyrinth. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“You will be if you keep going.”

You choose to ignore this, at this point knowing that everybody who lives here is terrified of their ruler. “Thanks for the help.”

The elf stares at your back as you walk through the new corridor, figure becoming smaller and smaller. “If she would have stuck around, I would have been able to get her on the right track back home, not towards that horrible man.”

From inside the house, a timer beeps. “Misty, supper’s ready!”

///

In the stone chamber of the King of the Underworld’s throne room, a three year old girl is currently winning a staring contest against a demon. Michael watches as the demon’s eyes begin to water (with blood, of course), before he eventually gives in and blinks. The little girl cheers before looking at Michael.

“My daddy’s gonna kick your butt, you know. He saved mama from aliens once.”

“Silence, child,” Michael commands, but he can’t help the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. It’s difficult to hide his amusement when this child is the most lively thing to grace his castle since...well, he can’t quite remember since when.

Being surrounded by demons of all shapes and sizes, with a variety of horns or extra eyes or tails, gets old after a while. Demons, quite frankly, are a bore. All they want to do is scare people and cause mayhem, yet continue to use the same methods that have been in place for thousands of years. If Michael’s being honest with himself, everything’s a bore to him here. In the early years, this job had been quite fun. Lots of naive humans to terrify and endless souls to torture.

Michael himself had been prone to naivety, then. It was easy to deal with the buffoons that called themselves demons when it seemed that, soon enough, he would find somebody to share this burden with him. After all, it was the guy upstairs who believed that emotions were for the humans. Michael, however, found it to be one of the most carnal pleasures. To love, and to be loved, seemed like the greatest sin. As the years passed, and the whole routine of ruling the Underworld became stale, Michael began to embrace the feelings of dejection, while simultaneously dreading the thought of an eternity alone.

That’s why, no matter the outcome of tonight, Michael would at least have something to add a little color to his black-and-white world. At the very least, the child would provide much-needed entertainment in the Underworld. She seems quite creative, which could potentially lend itself to some new and innovative torture methods. But, that would almost be a non-starter, considering the whole reason that she’s here, the whole reason Michael implemented this plan in the first place, is to get to you.

You, who managed to somehow win over demons disguised as beggars that loitered outside of the bookstore you worked for. You, who was constantly coming up with your own ideas for stories, creating and erasing entire worlds within your mind (a power far more powerful than any regular magic, Michael believes). You, who had somehow managed to vex and enchant him, without ever having spoken a word to him. He had seen you on one of his visits up Above, talking to a beggar demon as if they were your equal, offering food and shelter to their grotesque form. From then on, he knew that he had to have you, and from that, a plan was born. The Labyrinth, which he had subtly placed in every single one of your dreams for months now, was impossible to run through. You would inevitably lose. And when that happens, he’s prepared to accept your frantic offer where you exchange yourself for the child. He is, after all, a benevolent ruler.

“Mr. Michael?” Julia questions, breaking Michael out of his pondering.

Michael hums, deciding that he won’t lecture her on the importance of referring to rulers by their titles. “Yes, little one?”

“Do you have juice here? ‘M thirsty.”

“Abaddon!” Michael calls, the demon appearing in a puff of smoke. “Get our guest some refreshments.”

The demon turns to do Michael’s bidding, shocked when Julia grabs their clawed hand and skips along with them. “I really like your spiky horns,” she says.

Michael looks up at the clock on the wall, noting that only nine hours remain for you to reach the center of the Labyrinth and rescue the child. Perfect. He’s not one to get too cocky (yes he is), but these are odds he’s willing to take.

//

Tag List (send me a message if you want to be on this!): @sojournmichael @dark-mei-rose @blakescoven @xavierplympton @michaellangdon @trelaney @ajokeformur-ray @babyloutattoo89 @bloodcoatedeclipse @threeminutesoflife @annikathebananana @wth-trippy @thatonehumanbeing05 @dumybitch

[paperpocalypse]

the space-time continuum.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 9. Participating in their hobby even if it doesn’t personally interest you.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,456 words

Warning: Swearing

Five doesn’t really have any hobbies in the traditional sense.

He’s becoming more and more of a workaholic these days. The siblings love to harp on Luther for being as bland as toast, but even Number One takes the time to have fun once in a while; Five does not, at least not for the past few months. Even his weekly half hour of sanctioned free time is usually spent practicing his spatial jumps or writing equations. Lots of equations. One would be inclined to say that working is Five’s hobby, in its own, terribly boring way.

So one Saturday, when the clock strikes noon, you head over to Five’s room and knock on the door.

“Come in.”

“Well, that was easy,” you say, opening the door. Five is at his desk, scribbling in yet another notebook. “I thought there’d be more resistance.”

“Only three people in this house knock before coming in,” Five replies, not looking up as you walk over. “Mom, Vanya, and you. Mom is cleaning the living room and Vanya’s practicing, so that leaves –” he crosses a line out – “you.”

You smile. “Don’t I feel special.”

“Yeah, well, don’t flatter yourself.”

Knowing that he’ll probably kick you out if you tease him further, you instead peer over his shoulder at his work. Equations, just as you suspected. There’s a ragged edge near the spine where he had torn a page out and started over.

“Any way I could help?”

“Probably not.”

You glare at him. There’s just the slightest uptick on the corner of his mouth. “Everything has a pattern, Five. I bet I could find one in all this stuff.”

“This ��stuff’ is space-time mathematical physics. Of course there’re patterns, but they’re all twisted together in the world’s shittiest rope.” He finally looks up at you in that piercing way of his, and you try to ignore the jump in your heartbeat when he does so. “There’s a chair right over there. If you’re going to stick around, don’t hover over me like a vulture.”

In other words, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. Not bothering to press down a smile, you drag the chair over and sit next to Five, as close as you can without invading his personal space – he’s gotten more adamant about it lately, along with his growing antisocial tendencies. But today, it seems that he’s alright with your knees touching. Hands folding politely on top of the desk, you take the briefest moment to admire his side profile before examining his work closely for the first time.

Everything has a pattern. You tune out the sounds of your breathing, the crisp sound of a pen scratching at paper, your blood pulsing. Working with inanimate things is still a pain; you’d rather concentrate on living things than a jumble of numbers and variables. But this is important to Five and you want to help him, so you take in a slow, deep breath and drag your eyes down the page.

Yikes. It looks like one of the exercises Sir Hargreeves makes you train with, unfortunately. Most of the page is a derivation of some kind. You stare at the steps without blinking, eyes straining to locate just a thread, anywhere, to grasp –

“Ah-ha!” you exclaim when a trail fades into view, light blue against the pure white paper. Five looks over at you, and you grin sheepishly.

“You got it?” he asks dryly, twisting the pen once over his fingers. Still, his tone is expectant.

You fixate on the next page, and the rest of the patterns come into view, each one a different color. Five’s right – they’re all twisted together like a rope. It’s looser in some places, though.

“Got it,” you breathe. “Wow, that’s pretty neat.”

Five hums, satisfied, and resumes writing. You watch the paper intently as he continues to fill the notebook with figures, circling some numbers here and there and testing a calculation on some scrap paper every once in a while. The threads weave in and out of each other, and after a few minutes, you begin to see wisps of equations yet to be written – approximations of the best path to take. They’re faint, but you can see them. Yes!

“Might I give my humble opinion, Five?” you put in when he finally pauses.

He raises an eyebrow, pen clicking. “Shoot.”

Keeping your eyes on the notebook, you scoot closer and reach over to grab the scrap paper, plucking a spare pencil from the holder at the corner his desk. Five’s gaze burns into your hand as you start copying down the prediction as well as you can.

Once you’ve finished, you point at the denominator of the last answer in Five’s notebook. “So according to the pattern, you should –”

“Expand it as a power series in Planck’s constant,” Five mutters, leaning in to check your work. “Huh. That makes sense.” He nods, glancing over at you with a thoughtful expression. “Nice work.”

The compliment brings forth all sorts of gushy feelings that you’d rather die than admit to anyone, but the happiness shows on your face anyway. “No problem at all. Piece of cake.”

Five flips through his notebook again, then closes it and tosses his pen onto the desk. Leaning back in his chair, he looks past you and through the window before leveling his gaze back onto you. No words are exchanged for what feels like an eternity.

“So,” he finally says, right when you wonder whether he wants you to leave. He crosses his arms. “Why’d you really stop by?”

“What?”

“Well, to put it nicely, you’re not exactly a math person. Especially when it comes to the kind I’m doing, so …” Five tilts his head toward you.

You balk, scrambling for a way to explain without sounding like a buffoon. He simply waits, letting you brew as usual, as if he has all the time in the world until you come up with something. “I just …” you finally manage, shrugging weakly, “wanted to hang out with you. You’ve been kinda cooped up in your room lately, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doing that?” You gesture to his notebook. He nods. “What is it, exactly?”

“A spatial jump study.”

“Spatial jump study?” you echo, blinking with surprise. “Why?”

“Dad wants me to know how my power works as part of my training,” Five says flatly, standing up and walking towards his nightstand. “It’ll prepare me for time traveling – even though I’ve been ready for months already.”

You blink rapidly, taken aback. “You can time travel?”

He opens a drawer and rummages through its contents, picking something up. “Technically, I already can, since my spatial jumps manipulate time to a certain degree. If Dad would just let me, I could jump months forward. Maybe even years.” He tosses whatever he’d been holding to you. Instinctively, you catch it. “You dropped that after our last mission, by the way.”

You look down at your hand. In it lies a small keychain in the shape of a fluffy little bird, lemon yellow and cartoonish. Frowning, you pick it up by the keyring and dangle it closer to your face. Did you drop this one? You remember that you had lost a keychain when one of the robbers tore your jacket pocket, and that you had gone with birds that day, but to be honest you don’t quite remember what it looked like. You have a lot of bird keychains. The perks of joining the famous Umbrella Academy, you guess.

You pocket it anyway. “Thanks,” you murmur, touched either way.

Five shrugs and strides back over, hands in his pockets. “No problem. It was easy to spot.”

“I’ll say.” Standing up, you glance at the alarm clock next to his bed and gawp at the time. 12:20. There’s only ten minutes left? Geez. “Well … I better get ready. I’ll see you during training, I guess.”

Reluctantly, you make your way to the door, hearing the muffled clunk of your chair being set down as Five returns it back to its rightful place. Right. But when you open the door, preparing to step out into the hallway, he calls your name.

You quickly look back. “Hm?”

“Let me know if you need any help with your puzzles,” he says.

A smile immediately crawls onto your lips. Nodding, you look down at your feet and then back up at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

As you walk towards your room, strangely giddy, you pass Diego on the way. He gives you a weird look but you hardly care, reaching into your jacket pocket to touch the cool metal within.

See you then.

[moonflowerlesbians]

“choose your battles wisely”

Un-beta’d and written after surgery, so please take with a grain of salt. I’ll reblog with the AO3 link in the morning!

Rated T, ~4.1k. Fluffy, Hurt/Comfort

~~~

Jamie is an idiot.

Or, to be more specific, she is an absolute goddamn buffoon of the utmost clownery.

This is, more or less, Dani’s internal monologue as she follows the sound of pained grunts to a somewhat obscured section of the sprawling statue garden, where she comes across a rather disgruntled gardener lying flat on her back in the mud. Her oilskin hat has fallen to one side, and Jamie stares, bleary-eyed, at the grey England sky overhead. There is a decently sized marble sculpture on the ground beside her.  

“You alright, there?” Dani calls, after only a brief moment of amused silence.

“Jesus!” Jamie swears, her entire body twitching, which causes her outburst to dissolve into a groan. “Christ, Poppins, wear a bloody bell,” she grumbles.

Dani rolls her eyes. “You alright?” she repeats, quieter this time.

“Oh, who, me? Yeah, ‘course. Just, you know, enjoying some ‘me time.’” She moves to raise her arm in a weak attempt at waving Dani off, but the limb makes it mere inches off the ground before flopping unceremoniously into the dirt. “Taking in the views...”

“Some view,” Dani notes, with a playful, sardonic lilt to her voice. A pause. “Owen made sandwiches if you’d like to come in for lunch.”

“Be right there,” Jamie replies halfheartedly. She does not stir, her gaze still fixed on the dreary cloud cover, a firm set to her jaw. “Don’t wait up.”

“We might as well walk back together.” Dani crosses her arms. “That is, assuming you’re almost done with your ‘me time.’”

“Almost done. Right. Yeah.”

Dani watches the deep inhale as Jamie steels herself, the muscles of Jamie’s stomach flexing with effort. With a sharp gasp, Jamie pushes herself onto her elbows, but she only lasts a quick second before she’s once again lying prone, muttered curses falling from her lips.

Dani winces sympathetically. “Oh, baby, don’t hurt yourself.”

“Bit late for that.”

“What did you do?” She kneels at Jamie’s side, moist soil dampening her jeans, and brushes wispy brown hairs from her face.

“Picked a fight with the wrong woman.” Jamie nods at the overturned statue. “Credit where credit’s due, she’s stronger than she looks. Heavier, too.”

“So, you decided you were going to move a marble statue, on your own, after a rainstorm, which resulted in you, what, throwing out your back?” Dani translates. “And you thought this was a good idea because…?”

“Never said it was a good idea.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Right, well,” Jamie sighs, “we’ve established I’m not the sharpest knife in the block.” Her eyes meet Dani’s, defeated. “If you would be so kind as to lend me a hand, I’d rather not like to die like this.”

“All you had to do was ask, sweetheart.” She thinks she catches a fleeting smile before it is replaced with a grimace.

Gingerly, Dani wedges her arm between Jamie’s shoulders and the earth below, murmuring gentle apologies at each indication of discomfort. She offers her other hand for Jamie to grab. Together, they work her into a sitting position. Jamie’s chest heaves, and her face is a ghostly shade of white.

They stay like that for a minute. While Jamie catches her breath, Dani’s fingers rub what she hopes are soothing circles into her back. How long has she been out here?

“Are you okay to walk?” Dani asks.

“Suppose we’ll find out,” Jamie says in a tone not at all reassuring.

Dani braces herself and takes both of Jamie’s hands in her own, digging her heels into the dirt. “One...two…”

On three, she pulls, and Jamie staggers to her feet, with Dani catching the majority of her weight as she topples forward and the air goes out of her.

“JesusshitfuckingChristfuckshittinghellgoddamnit-”

“Okay, you’re okay,” Dani says, trying to angle herself to best support the woman about to get herself excommunicated for blasphemy. She can feel the tension radiating off of Jamie in waves.

“I’m fine, I’m good,” Jamie promises, very much not fine and very much not good. “Nothing’s broken, I don’t think. Just, ah, a little crooked, s’all.” Her breathing is labored as they take a few tentative steps.

“Look, you just rest here, and I’ll run back and get Owen--”

“No, absolutely not,” Jamie cuts her off. “If that man finds out, I’ll never hear the end of it. Little shit still brings up the Rosebush Incident of Eighty-five whenever I break out the pruning shears.” Her arm drapes heavy around Dani’s neck as they round a corner.

“What--”

“Don’t,” Jamie wheezes, “ask.”

“You realize how dumb that is, right? And I’m definitely going to ask,” Dani says, guiding them toward the front door. Jamie stops short.

“Side door,” she explains, “servants’ hall. Won’t go past the kitchen. Can use one of the empty rooms until I sort myself out.”

“You might want to get your head checked if you think I’m leaving you alone like this.”

Dani readjusts her grip, while Jamie nimbly flips through a massive ring of keys Dani swears she’s never seen before, yet Jamie handles with the expertise of someone who does this daily. Which, Dani realizes, feeling rather stupid, she probably does.

“Fuck,” Jamie says under her breath as the door opens, revealing a hallway Dani has yet to explore. Dani sees the problem. She looks at Jamie. She looks at the narrow staircase. She evaluates her upper body strength.

Then, Jamie is making a rather undignified noise as Dani lifts her without warning, and Dani would be lying if she said the look on Jamie’s face isn’t extraordinarily satisfying. Something about seeing her stoic, mulish girlfriend, gone limp in her arms, looking at her, a little awestruck, well… it’s a sight Dani intends to cherish. And definitely not for the potential blackmail purposes.

Only after Dani gingerly deposits her on the blue quilt in Dani’s room does Jamie say, deadly serious, “We never speak of this again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dani says, “take these.” She plops two pills and a cup of water in Jamie’s hand and disappears into the adjacent bathroom.

“That’s the spirit, Poppins,” she calls after her.

“Come on,” Dani says, reappearing in the doorway. “We need to get you out of these wet clothes before you catch a cold.”

“I’m fine,” Jamie scoffs, visibly shivering.

“The mud stain on my duvet says otherwise. Come on. Up you get. The bath is filling.”

“I can’t ask you to let me use your bath.”

“Good thing you’re not asking, then.”

The half-formed rebuke dies on Jamie’s lips, and she nods as if to say, touché, but Dani is certain she will not be hearing the end of this. She beckons Jamie up and pulls her into the other room, leaning her against the countertop. Without thinking, she begins undoing the buttons on Jamie’s top.

“Blimey,” Jamie remarks, not pushing Dani away, but stilling her movements.

Dani can feel the heat rise in her cheeks. She backpedals. “I, um, I didn’t-- I’m so sorry.”

Jamie just laughs, “Only teasing, love. But, ah, I can probably take it from here, yeah?”

“Um, yeah. I’ll just… be in the bedroom. If you need me.”

Dani slumps against the door as it closes behind her. The sound of the water running mimics the rush of blood in her ears. They’ve only been doing... whatever this is between them for a month. Not long at all. Certainly not long enough to be undressing her in the middle of the day with people in the house while she’s in pain. Dani hadn’t meant it in an erotic way but, Jesus, Dani, show some restraint.

She exhales. Right. Organize. Jamie will need a towel. She’ll need dry clothes. Maybe tea? A warm compress. Or ice? What do people put on sore muscles? A massage? Dani swallows thickly and shakes off the thought of Jamie’s smooth skin beneath her fingertips, tightness dissipating as Dani works the knots away. She absolutely does not imagine Jamie melting into the mattress or the moans that might escape through her lips, and she decidedly does not dwell upon the rare sight of Jamie, pliant and entirely relaxed.

Absolutely not. Shove that into a box and come back to it later. It’s worked well enough in the past.

Right then.

Dani sets about making the necessary rearrangements, shuffling her boots into the closet, digging out appropriately loose clothes for laying about, and swiping a plate of sandwiches from the kitchen, making some excuse about Jamie being too busy to come in, but she sends her thanks. Owen raises an eyebrow at this, but apparently does not feel the need to comment. Hannah, however, takes one look at Dani’s muddy knees and frowns.

“Miss Clayton, you had better not be tracking mud through my house.”

“Yes, Miss Clayton, or else you will have to mop up the mess just like Miles!” Flora states, intently focused on the cucumber and cream cheese sandwich on her plate.

“I told you it wasn’t me!” Miles objects loudly, his drinking glass making contact with the table with a bit more force than necessary.

“It’s in the past,” Dani dismisses, before the situation can get out of hand. She turns to Hannah, and, in her best I’m-setting-an-example-please-go-with-it voice, says, “Of course, Mrs. Grose, I made sure to wipe my feet at the door, but I will clean up any messes I made because it is very important that we all clean up our own messes.”

“Right you are, dear.”

“Could I get a cup of tea to take to Jamie as well? I’d make it but…”

“Say no more,” Owen rises from his seat at the table. “Wouldn’t want to poison poor Jamie, now would we?” Then, with a chuckle, “She’s got you properly whipped, hasn’t she? Trekking lunch out to whatever corner of the grounds she’s wound up in.”

“Why’s Jamie whipping Miss Clayton?” Flora pipes up.

Dani feels her face flush. “Oh, sweetie, she’s, um, that’s not--”

“What Owen means to say, is it’s very nice of Miss Clayton to deliver a meal to Jamie while she’s working,” Hannah says pointedly.

Owen coughs. “Ah, yeah, to-tea-lly leaf-ly of her to help out.”

“Hannah, I was thinking of taking my lunch with Jamie. Would you mind keeping an eye on these two for a little while?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Hannah chaffs, “They’re an awful lot of trouble, these two.”

“You think,” Owen chimes in, “they’d behave if I told them I could use a hand baking biscuits this afternoon?”

“I suppose that might do it,” Hannah says, an expression of faux pensivity creasing her forehead. “What do you think, children?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Grose, that would be perfectly splendid!”

“Can we make snickerdoodles?”

“Don’t see why not,” Owen says. He hands a teacup to Dani. “Off with you. Go find your knight in mud and dungarees.”

Dani shoots them a grateful smile and heads back upstairs, delicately balancing the cup with the plate of food. She knocks thrice.

“Yeah.” Jamie’s voice comes muffled through the heavy wooden door as Dani cautiously turns the knob.

Dani lets out a moderately embarrassing squeak and immediately averts her eyes, intent on looking anywhere except at a very wet, towel-clad Jamie. “Oh, um, good. Y-you found the towel.”

“That I did. I, ah, wasn’t sure if these were for me,” she gestures to the neatly folded stack of clothes on the bed, “didn’t want to assume.”

“They’re, um, they’re for you.” There’s a fascinating crack in the floor Dani has never noticed before. It’s about four inches long and almost invisible.

“Hey, Dani, you can look.” Jamie sounds almost concerned. ‘S’okay. It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before.” She grins wryly.

“No, no, yeah, I know. It just, I don’t know, feels different when it’s not for that reason.”

“Dani Clayton, not a fan of casual nudity. Noted,” Jamie teases.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t a fan.” Dani places the tea and sandwiches on the bedside table, stepping into Jamie’s space.

“That so?”

“Mhm,” Dani hums, “and I’m going to stop this runaway train right here. You’re injured.”

Jamie huffs. “Bloody rude.”

“How’s your back?”

“Feels fine. Right as rain. I’ll just get dressed and go back out--”

“You most certainly will not. You are going to get dressed and get in this bed and you are going to rest.”

“But I’ve still got to finish in the statuary, and Hannah’s brought up a crack she wants me to fix, and--”

“--and all of those things can wait. I’ve taken care of enough idiotic teenage sports injuries to know that straining it will only make it worse. So, put these on, and get into bed.” She leaves no room for disagreement.

“I can’t believe you just used your teacher voice on me.”

“I can’t believe you’re being this obstinate.”

“I’m fine!”

“Why won’t you let me take care of you?” It is not aggressive. It comes out softly, a hint of confusion combined with an ounce of desperation.

Jamie freezes. “I don’t…”

“You only took a bath after I practically forced you--”

“I wouldn’t--”

“You could’ve really hurt yourself.”

“I know, but--”

“How long would you have laid out there in the mud before calling for help?”

“Dani,” Jamie interrupts, an appeasing thumb running along the inside of Dani’s wrist, “look, I just…” she sighs. “It’s not that easy.”

“It is, though,” Dani insists.

“No, love, it’s not. Not when you’ve been… well, not when you’re me.” She pauses, sits on the bed, and nudges Dani down next to her. “I don’t like feeling useless, s’all. People look at you, see you laying about, they see weakness. Someone to be pitied or someone to be taken advantage of. Just once is all it takes for them to get the idea you can’t stand on your own two feet.”

She seems a million miles away, a decade, even, and Dani waits. Jamie will continue if she wants to.

“I don’t like being pitied. And I know that’s not...that’s not what you’re trying to do.” She chooses her words carefully, as if walking through a minefield. Dani stands on the other side. “No need to give me the talk about everybody needing help. ‘Cause, in theory, yeah, that’s true, but when you’ve always been the one doing the helping... it… it’s not all that easy to be on the receiving end.” The last sentence is rushed, and Jamie finishes with a humorless snort of laughter. Her thumb has halted its caress of Dani’s skin.

Dani is silent for a moment. Coddling would be met with rejection. Not outright, no, but Dani knows better. Jamie has lain bare this piece of her soul, held out a fragment of her identity in tender hands, and trusts Dani to take it under her care, treasure it. Jamie had woven the tale of her life under the moonlight, and Dani has spent the past month trying to unravel the threads, to understand. Now, Jamie has given her a new string to follow, but she cannot pull too hard, lest it fall apart.

Dani speaks, quiet, but firm. “We’ll just have to practice then, won’t we.”

A flicker of confusion passes over Jamie’s face as she processes. Then, she softens. Her thumb resumes its rhythmic movement.

There will be other times, Dani has said, and I will stay and I will be here for you because you aren’t alone anymore.

And that seems to be enough.

Jamie exhales through her nose.

“Bit nippy in here. Might, ah, might want to put on some clothes.”

Right. Yes. Of course. Jamie is still in a towel. Gooseflesh has risen along her legs, and she shivers.

“Oh, oh, yeah,” Dani stammers, “I’ll just--” She mimes turning around and is met with a chuckle.

“You weren’t this shy the other night, if memory serves.”

“That,” Dani reiterates, “that was different.” She makes a show of fussing with the corner of the duvet, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles.

Jamie makes a noncommittal noise low in her throat. “I’m decent.”

Dani had picked the clothes, sure, but for a woman who prides herself on preparedness, actually seeing Jamie in Dani’s old elementary school t-shirt and loose-fitting, flannel trousers causes the circuits in her brain to fry.

“Your tea’s getting cold,” she says dumbly. “I didn’t make it,” she adds, noting Jamie’s look of skepticism. Apparently satisfied with that answer, Jamie sips at her beverage and slides under the covers, gesturing for Dani to join her. She shakes her head. “I still need to clean myself up. Hannah’s watching the kids for now, but I really should get back to them.”

“A tragedy of Shakespearen proportions.”

“You need anything else before I shower?”

“No, thank you, love.” Modest affection shines on Jamie’s face, and she speaks so genuinely Dani’s heart aches. She smiles.

“Get some rest, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jamie gives a mock salute, at which Dani can only roll her eyes before exiting  into the bathroom with an extra towel and a change of clothes.

When she returns, wringing her hair out, she finds Jamie soundly asleep. The teacup has been placed on the table, next to the plate now missing a sandwich, and Jamie is curled on her side, puffing slow, measured breaths.

Chamomile tea. Who knew?

Dani makes sure to close the door quietly, and she does her best to herd the children away from that side of the house.

It’s about time for supper when Dani makes her way back to her room. When Jamie does not answer her knocks, Dani opens the door, praying the hinges will not squeak for once. Jamie is still nestled in Dani’s bed. She’s rolled over, though, facing the door, and Dani can see her bangs billowing slightly with every breath. Jamie’s nose twitches where the hair tickles it.

This isn’t the first time Dani has seen Jamie in her bed, and she certainly hopes it won’t be the last, but this, this casual intimacy, is something so precious to her. She wants it to last.

Dani perches on the edge of the mattress, reaching out to remove the offending strand of hair from Jamie’s face, and Jamie stirs.

“Hey,” Dani whispers, and Jamie cracks an eye. She presses a hand to her forehead. One of her shirtsleeves has fallen to the side, revealing pale collarbones.

“Hey.” Her voice is gravelly, sleep-laden, in a way that makes Dani’s stomach turn over itself. “Time s’it?”

“Around six, I think?” That grabs Jamie’s attention. Before Dani can stop her, she’s scrambling to sit up, completely forgetting that’s a terrible idea and acting surprised when she topples back onto the pillows with a grunt.

“Easy, easy…” Dani scolds sweetly, as Jamie gasps. “You’re okay. Just lay back. That’s it.”

“Christ.”

“Forgot why you ended up here in the first place, huh?”

“I can’t believe you let me sleep all day,” Jamie says, when the stab of pain fades. “Thought you’d at least wake me up after an hour or so. Had things to do.”

“We said they could wait.”

“You said they could wait.”

“You can’t seriously be mad at me for making you take care of yourself.”

“Feel like I wasted a day, s’all.”

“Well, you didn’t. Taking care of yourself is never a waste,” Dani says, effectively ending the argument. “Do you want to come down for dinner, or do you want me to bring it up to you?” Jamie opens her mouth, but Dani continues, “Before you answer, I want you to think about whether you’re making this decision based on what’s easiest for me, or what you actually feel capable of doing.”

Jamie’s brows raise. “Someone’s feeling bold this evening.”

Dani resists the urge to shirk away, to cave. She knows Jamie would drop it instantly, reassuring Dani that she hasn’t actually overstepped. Instead, Dani says, quietly, sincerely, “You don’t have to put your needs aside to make my life easier.” She considers, leans down so that she’s laying next to Jamie on the bed. “Besides, I like taking care of you.”

Jamie studies her. Whether she’s looking for the lie or for Dani to pull back and say, “just kidding!” Dani doesn’t know. Jamie presses a gentle kiss to her lips, a kiss that speaks the words she cannot. A kiss that says, I’m working on it.

Dani stays close when they break apart, their foreheads touching. “So, dinner?”

“Should probably make an appearance.”

Dani gives her a pointed look. “‘Should’ or ‘want to.’”

“Want to,” Jamie assures, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“You know,” Dani says, helping Jamie sit up slowly, “we should probably tell them how you hurt yourself, or they’ll assume it was from less, hm, virtuous activities.”

“Dirty bird.” Jamie swats her arm. “Owen, maybe, but not our good, Christian Hannah.”

“But do you really want to deal with the comments at the table?”

“Fine. We tell them I fell, and that’s it.”

“Right, so I shouldn’t mention your incredibly stupid idea to move a heavy marble statue without help?”

“Not ideally, no.”

Dani pouts. “Do I at least get to ask about the Rosebush Incident of Eighty-five?”

“You’re not gonna let that one go, are you?” Jamie sighs. “Fine. Ask Owen, then. Suppose you’ll find out about it eventually.” Dani places a gleeful kiss on her cheek.

“Come on, let’s get some food into you.”

The few hours of bedrest appear to have paid off, Dani thinks smugly, as Jamie is perfectly capable of walking herself down the hall. Jamie, however, seems to be rather content to use this as an excuse to lean into Dani, and Dani can’t say she minds all that much. She stands on her own as they near the kitchen and moves with only a slight limp and a wince Dani only catches because she’s looking for it.

At another time, she’ll wonder how often Jamie has hidden her pain.

“There she is!” Owen exclaims when they take their unassigned, assigned seats at the table.

“What happened, dear?” Hannah says simultaneously, as Owen does a double take, clearly trying to figure out what he’s missing. It dawns on him a moment later.

“Fell. ‘M fine,” Jamie shrugs.

“Must’ve been some fall,” Owen remarks, with a smirk that has Dani wary.

“Hm?” Jamie does not look up from the roll she’s buttering.

“You’re wearing Miss Clayton’s clothes,” Flora observes helpfully. Dani chokes on her water. Shit. How could she have missed that?

To her credit, Jamie continues without faltering. “Tripped, landed in a mud puddle, and I didn’t have a change of clothes in the truck. Miss Clayton was nice enough to loan me hers.”

Well, the first part, at least, is true. Dani pinches herself for not asking if Jamie had her own clothes to change into. Even if she does look divine in the free t-shirt they gave Dani when she started teaching.

Owen seems skeptical, but, blessedly, he drops the subject in favor of animatedly recounting the story of their baking adventures that afternoon.

Hannah catches them after dinner, just as Dani is preparing to send the children to bed. “Will you be staying the night, Jamie? In the unfortunate event your injury acts up, of course,” she says with a mirthful wink.

Jamie looks to Dani for an answer, her mouth moving but no words coming out.

“Yes,” Dani decides for them.

“I’m assuming I won’t need to make up the guest bedroom for you?”

“Oh, um, no, thanks. That won’t be necessary.” Dani isn’t sure why she’s blushing. It’s not as if the whole manor doesn’t know about them. They’d tried hiding at first, sneaking about and slipping into dark corners like teenagers. They were not very good at it.

Later, with Miles and Flora safely asleep and Owen and Hannah having taken their leave for the evening, Jamie returns to Dani’s bed, this time with Dani sliding in behind her. Dani nuzzles into her back, careful not to touch any sore areas.

“I know I was an idiot,” Jamie’s voice cuts nervously through the darkness, “but, ah, just wanted to say thanks. For caring about me. Not really...not really used to that.”

Dani can feel her entire body tense. She presses tender kisses along Jamie’s back. “Of course,” she murmurs, and she hopes her conviction comes across. “Always.” She hesitates. “You’re not wrong about being an idiot, though,” Dani giggles.

“You like it.” It’s not meant to be a question, though Jamie’s voice wavers.

“I do,” Dani confirms affectionately, “I do.”

Jamie relaxes against her.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Being Fake Soulmates with Dr. Chilton (Part 2)

<- Part 1 | Part 3 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader | The Good Place crossover

1,200 words

It had been a few weeks since the start of your afterlife and your introduction to your pompous, preening soulmate, Dr. Frederick Chilton.

At first, you were sure you were soulmates in the way Michael Myers and Laurie Strode were soulmates: destined to torment each other through all of eternity. He was exactly the type of entitled asshole you always wished you had the guts the stand up to, and the thought of playing house with him made your skin crawl.

After catching him in a vulnerable moment, however, you began to have sympathy for the lonely psychiatrist. His prickly exterior and well-guarded emotions drove everyone away, but once you got beneath that, he turned out to be an affectionate, needy snuggler. There was a void of love in his life on Earth that he was starving to fill, and maybe it wasn’t so bad that you were destined by the universe to fill it.

It still drove you crazy when he asked Janet for Beluga caviar and white truffles (which you knew he secretly hated), and it frustrated him that you dressed comfortably (when Janet could create the most glamorous outfits you could imagine), but you had settled into a mutually fond relationship.

This was paradise, after all. He was your soulmate. If you trusted him, coaxed him to open up, then you would understand each other as only two perfect halves of a whole could.

“What a bunch of judgmental ash-holes,” you muttered, elbow linked with his as you returned from a ten-course dinner party at the Al-Jamil residence—the only home even bigger than Dr. Chilton’s.

“Get to know your neighbors, Michael said. What a nightmare,” replied Chilton with biting sarcasm. Complaining about other residents in the neighborhood turned out to be the one hobby you had in common, so you indulged in it ruthlessly. It wasn’t mean; it was a bonding exercise.

“I know this is the ‘good place’ but does everyone here have to be so… obsequious?”

“Arrogant is what they were,” Chilton corrected. “All because of, what was it, a hundred acres of rainforest?”

“A hundred thousand acres. Didn’t you hear, they saved at least two dozen species from extinction. And they had the nerve to correct me on what spoon to use!”

The doctor’s lightly-stubbled face twitched at that. The nature of his scowl shifted. “You could have at least made an effort to learn table etiquette.”

Your arm stiffened, considering pulling out of his. “You could have been on my side.”

“You were using the dessert spoon for—”

“Sorry I embarrass you!” Your arm yanked away from his elbow and crossed your chest. “Just your soulmate here.”

The night sky was lit by a dazzling show of stars glowing in a sea of deep blues and purples that swayed in the cool (never cold) breeze like a Van Gogh painting come to life. You stood outside the magnificent door to the Chilton Estate, face heating as you reconsidered why you agreed to live with a spoiled buffoon.

His cat-like green eyes evaluated you just as critically. “Why is my soulmate so…?”

Insulting comments perched on his tongue about your clothing, your manners, your overall lack of high-society finickiness, but faltered.

You did embarrass him, it was true, but not as much as he was embarrassed by himself. He was in a foul mood because the neighbors were better than him in every way. Dr. Chilton prided himself on his grooming, yet Tahini Al-Jamil made him look like a pauper. He longed to be admired and respected among his peers, but with peers like these—the best of the best of humanity—he was nothing. Without achievement of note. Dinner had been a sharp reminder of that.

If his soulmate were glamorous, they could elevate his status instead of dragging him down. He had hoped, when he was introduced to you, for a prize he could show off. It was an ego-crushing disappointment when he discovered his soulmate was so… common. But you gave him something better than status—something he never had before. Whenever his facade slipped and he couldn’t keep himself from falling apart, you didn’t attack him for being weak. You sat with him, and held his hand, and reassured him. He didn’t have to be perfect when he was with you, didn’t have to perform the role of the dignified doctor who squashed down his emotions—the role assigned and enforced since childhood by parents who did not tolerate failure.

Pursuing esteem and glory only brought about his early death. Perhaps you were the universe’s way of showing him a better path: the person who saw him and loved him beneath the mask.

His tongue flicked over the roof of his mouth as he let go of the next cruel syllable without uttering it.

The sculpted wood doors of the mansion unlocked, recognizing their owner’s arrival. Using the sound as an interruption from the brewing spat, Chilton put a soft hand on your lower back and guided you inside to privacy. You scowled as he turned, shoes clicking on the marble floors, to press a kiss to your forehead.

“...so stunning?” he finished his thought.

You grumbled your opinion as to the likelihood that that was what he had meant to say, but he gently grasped your chin and turned your pout toward him.

“I should not have let them talk down to you.” Because you make me complete, he meant to say. Because you deserve better. “As if they have any right to speak down to anyone” he scoffed instead. “A standard single-pocket napkin fold? Tasteless. They could not be bothered with a proper fleur-de-lis? At least a double-diamond.”

His voice had taken on that particularly snobby affect it slipped into when he wanted to drive home his superiority—that almost-British accent meant to sound classy. It wasn’t quite an apology, but he was using his snobbery in your defense rather than against you now, and you felt the warmth of his intent.

You rested your head against his shirt collar, where his shoulder joined the pulsing heat of his neck, hands finding his hips reflexively. His arms quickly followed your lead, surrounding you.

“I could have stood up for myself, too,” you murmured. “I already felt like garbage for thinking I made a difference by recycling when Tahani was out saving half the Amazon basin with her vast fortune.”

He held you silently. Though he was a merciless gossip and often said too much, Chilton was careful with his words. When he was not sure what to say, he preferred to say nothing, so he was often tight-lipped when you were upset. He wished it were different—that he could give words of encouragement to magically make you feel better—but empathy did not come naturally to him. Should he open his mouth, he was inclined toward giving helpful advice or psychoanalysis, neither of which were comforting. It was one of many reasons he spent his life alone.

So he simply held you, stroking your back as your humid breath warmed his neck. He understood how you felt, at least. Small. Insignificant. Humiliated.

It was as if that dinner party was perfectly designed to strike a nerve in both of you.

​

[cotncandyboifics]

A Lovely Night: Chapter 2

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6

Pairing(s): pre-established roceit & prinxiety, anaroceit, eventual anaroloceit, eventual intruality

Word count: ~2k

Story summary: Roman's boyfriends had had a rivalry since before either of them had actually met Roman. Running a bit late to a date night, Roman accidentally gets them to start dating too.

General CW: non-detailed description of an anxiety attack, non-detailed description of physical pain, food, kissing, potentially triggering descriptions of physical bodies, swearing, caps lock, school settings, s-xual innuendos, slight description of gore(imagery), vague descriptions of anxiety, Implications of an eating disorder, fatigue, dissociation, suppression of stimming, implied heavy restriction (ED), inner monologue-style anxiety description, eating,(will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: kissing, swearing, subtle s-xual innuendo, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: this is the starring role chapter! If that makes sense... after this I'm kind of making up the plot stream-of-consciousness style. I'm pretty excited to get CH 5 out.

...

Virgil knew this whole thing was a mistake.

Roman had practically begged him to break out his skirt, fishnet, and heels. He'd only just bought them, and Roman was entirely too enticed by the idea of his boyfriend wearing them. He was very nervous - he'd never worn heels before, and never a skirt out in public - but he just couldn't bring himself to say no to his love.

And so, here he stood, leaning on the railing over a valley as the sun began reaching to kiss the horizon. He'd worn his favorite ripped crop top and leather jacket, fishnets reaching across his exposed navel, down beneath his plaid purple skirt and all the way into the black high heels he wore. He'd done his makeup a little nicer than usual, winging his eyeliner and getting a bit of purple sparkles in with his eyeshadow. his hair curled and twined haphazardly over his forehead and eyes as he watched lights of houses in the valley flicker on.

This was meant to be a special date, just Janus, Roman and Virgil. Roman had planned it, and kept the events a complete secret to both his boyfriends, simply telling them when and where to meet him. Virgil checked his phone; it was two minutes to seven, the agreed upon time. Virgil tended to arrive early to most things, since he was usually anxious that he'd be late even when getting a 30 minute head start. He passed his phone between his hands, the screen flickering on when his thumb accidentally tapped it, and a picture of Roman kissing a smirking Janus on the cheek greeted him. He felt his cheeks heat up, and slid his phone back into his pocket.

A clicking noise sounded from a little ways away, and Virgil turned to seek its source.

Janus was walking up, the heels of his black and white dress shoes clicking on the pavement. He wore a black wool suit with golden accents, a red dress shirt with subtle frills and a black bowtie. On his head rested his favorite bowler hat, concealing the majority of his golden curls - some of which escaped anyway, tucked neatly against his forehead and over his ears. He smirked and bowed as he approached Virgil, dipping his head and holding one golden gloved hand fisted tight against the small of his own back. Virgil scoffed and shoved his shoulder, and Janus stumbled a bit, snickering back.

Janus joined Virgil at the railing, looking out at the valley and the setting sun. They stood in a comfortable silence for a while, Virgil needing to consistently will himself not to rest his head on Janus' shoulder that was painfully close but felt so far.

After long enough, Janus cleared his throat. "Where might our dear prince be?" He ran his fingers down the underside of one of his lapels, not yet tearing his gaze from the pink clouds surrounding the sunset. Virgil opted to check his phone.

"Uh..." He couldn't form the words, so he simply presented his phone to Janus. A single text had come through.

Romano<3 Hey babe, I'm running kinda late. Why don't you and Jannie entertain each other until I get there? Sorry. Love you <3<3<3

Janus hummed, eyebrows raised. "Well it appears we're stuck with each other for the time being." He smirked slightly, and Virgil scoffed, bumping shoulders with him.

"What a waste," Virgil mused under his breath after a few more minutes of them staring out at the sunset together.

"Ah..." Janus glanced at Virgil briefly. "Such a shame. What a lovely view. It's practically hand drawn for a couple." He sighed, a little too dramatically, and Virgil furrowed his brow at him. "If only Roman were here. Unfortunately, you're not really my type, darling."

"Really." Virgil spat, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest protectively.

"Alas it's only you and I," Janus continued, leaning slightly closer to Virgil, "and frankly, we've got no chemistry whatsoever."

"Ah, okay snakey." Virgil bit back, not daring to look at the smirk he was sure was playing on Janus' face. "I think I can make that call, huh? Just because you look all pretty in that polyester suit doesn't-"

"It's wool," Janus interjected in annoyance. Although after a moment he gasped slightly, turning to Virgil fully. "Wait a moment! Did you just call me pretty, Charlie Frown?" He leaned a little too close, and Virgil scrunched his nose, leaning away slightly.

"Stealing Ro's nicknames for me doesn't make you creative," Virgil deflected, smirking right back at Janus.

"Mmm, perhaps not," Janus leaned away, seemingly examining his fingernails through his gloves.

"And for the record, I'm also feeling no chemistry."

"Is that so?" Janus' attention was back on Virgil, and their eyes locked in an intense and silent battle. Virgil wouldn't back down, just as he never had before, but this time he wasn't sure what he was trying to prove. He straightened his posture, making his chest puff out slightly. Even if Janus was taller than him, he wouldn't shy away from a confidence contest. No, not even if his crush was literally looming over him, not even if he could swear he just saw Janus' eyes flick to his lips for an imperceptible millisecond.

"Yeah. It is." He leaned his head forward, almost bumping his forehead on Janus'. Had he ever seen Janus' face so red?

"So you agree, then," Janus spoke, voice ever so slightly unsteady, but he didn't dare back down. Even if he was nose to nose with a boy he was in love with.

"Yeah, I guess I do." Virgil scrunched his nose again. This time, when Janus' eyes flicked to his lips, it wasn't deniable. He watched it happen, clear as day.

And so, he took a chance.

He took one step forward, not moving his head at all but nearly pushing his body against Janus'. Janus responded in kind, taking a step forward as well, and they were chest to chest. Virgil reached up and gripped Janus' lapels. They were impressively soft, and Virgil realized Janus hadn't just been bragging; it was in fact a wool suit. Janus' hands came to Virgil's hips. Virgil pressed their foreheads together, and didn't dare look away from Janus' eyes. They both breathed on each other, caught up in the heat of the moment without even needing to move with each other.

They'd both been waiting for this for so long.

Slowly, Janus' arms wrapped around Virgil's waist, and Virgil tilted his jaw up slightly. Janus met him halfway, immediately initiating a passionate, openmouthed kiss. Virgil's arms wrapped around Janus' neck, and Janus held him as close against himself as he physically could.

Virgil's mind was exploding, and so was Janus'. Neither of them could believe that this was really real. But they were both too afraid to break the kiss to make sure that it was, so they just kept kissing.

Hands wandered as they did, and Virgil had his arms wrapped beneath Janus' and around his back, both of them pulling each other against themselves as snugly as they could. Neither could get enough of this feeling they'd been chasing for so many years, and the fact that it had all culminated into this moment felt intoxicating in a way neither could describe.

Eventually things slowed down, and they went from lovingly tongue battling to trading gentle slow pecks, both of them smiling stupidly as they rested their foreheads together once more.

Janus opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted. "I genuinely thought you two weren't going to stop kissing for a minute there. Jeez."

Janus gasped and Virgil yelped, both of them jumping about a foot in the air and a foot away from each other. Roman, who was sitting on the bench next to them, broke out in laughter.

"Ro you can't sneak up on us like that, man!" Virgil wheezed out though labored breaths, as he tried to calm himself. Janus just stood straight as a pencil with his hands pressed into his face.

After long enough, Roman caught his breath, but he was still smiling so big at his boyfriends. They both looked between Roman and each other, trying desperately to probe the situation without moving a muscle.

Roman brought his hands to his face, fingers curled into happy fists. "Do you know how happy it makes me that you two finally realized?" Roman practically squealed, and if it were even possible, Virgil's face went even redder. Janus collected himself, and cleared his throat.

"Well hello, Roman." He opened his mouth to say more, but the words wouldn't come. He kept glancing to Virgil, who had taken to staring at the floor.

Roman looked between the two of them for a moment. "Oh you big buffoons. Talking always has been hard for the two of you, huh? Come here, my loves." He patted the bench on either side of him, and his boyfriends came at his call, settling in with their thighs against Roman's. "Now hmm, how should we start... I suppose you can fill me in on what I missed?" he looked between them. "Surely you didn't simply see each other in your lovely-" Roman made a point to look Virgil up and down slowly, "-outfits," And Janus as well, "And just decide to attach at the lips immediately? That sounds like something I'd do, more so than either of you." Janus chuckled, and kissed Roman's cheek.

"Well, snakey here decided to make a deal about how pretty the sunset was. And how it was so romantic and all that. And how it was a waste that-" Virgil's snarky explanation was cut off.

"Excuse me, I started it? No no no Virgie," Janus smirked as Virgil's eyes widened at the nickname, "You were the first to make a sly comment about the waste of a romantic view."

"You tell Ro then, if you think you know so much better." Virgil crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his tongue out at Janus, who hummed a laugh.

"Alright. Well," His smirk was lost then, and he took to adjusting his gloves. "I then made a comment about the lack of chemistry between us, and... And I think Virgie said something about me being pretty," His smirk was no longer lost, and Virgil rolled his eyes to try and distract himself from his heart racing in his chest. "And... I'm not sure. We got... lost in the moment." Janus smiled then. A genuine smile. It was such a rare sight (as Roman and Virgil often commented to each other) that Roman nudged Virgil's shoulder so he'd look up to see it too. They both gaped at Janus happily for a few moments, before Janus cleared his throat. "So I suppose then that in the end, I was correct that you find me pretty, Virgil?"

Virgil choked on air for a moment. "Sure, yeah, whatever," He spoke under his breath, "but you were also wrong about the chemistry thing. So suck it." Virgil gave him a challenging grin.

"Ayo!" Roman snickered at the innuendo, and Virgil and Janus both rolled their eyes at him.

"But darling," Janus ignored Roman for a moment, and Virgil swore his chest would explode if Janus kept using pet names for him, "You so strongly agreed that there was no chemistry to be found between us, and yet." He held his hands out, gesturing to their circumstances and smirking yet again.

"Oh shut up pretty boy," Virgil growled in annoyance, reaching across Roman's lap and pulling Janus by the cheeks into another kiss.

[luxekook]

chapter seven.

⇥ pairing: ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 3.6k

⇥ warnings: 18+, lots of cursing, general chaotic energy, poly relationship, a short confrontation, mentions of slut-shaming, switch!reader, dom!joon, switch!jin, sub!jimin, library shenanigans, an abundance of coffee, punishments, spanking, bad puns (jin is in this chapter, DUH), many nerd references uwu

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

characters | prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

Chapter Seven

Quinn Library – 3:54pm

The end of September passes in a blur of studying, partying, volunteering, and spending time with friends. The month’s conclusion also includes the increasing presence of seven boys in my everyday routine.

Since giving Taehyung the suck of his life in the bathroom of Hannigan’s, I have been basically fighting off the seven of them for a moment to breathe. But, sometimes breathing is overrated when being smothered by affection.

Going from being single to essentially dating seven people is quite the adjustment. I found myself growing attached to them – something that both excited and scared the shit out of me. We haven’t discussed labels or anything, but I figure it’s only a matter of time. The boys have apparently been planning an elaborate first date for this upcoming weekend, and I feel like they’ll probably ask to make it official then.

My stomach erupts in butterflies at the thought, and I take a calming breath. No need to overthink such things.

While it might be unconventional by some societal standards, polyamory is simply a way to love. Why should love come with confines? With binary expectations? The saying ‘love is love’ gets thrown around a lot, but I believe it bears repeating.

Jenni and Luna have been nothing but supportive to me over the past two weeks. They even came with me to volunteer this past weekend because they - and I quote - wanted to ‘check out our vibe’. But, I wholeheartedly expect that the real reason had actually been for them to feel out the boys’ intentions.

Why did I suspect this? Well, because Jungkook had come up to me within the first fifteen minutes at the worksite quivering in fear over how ‘scary my friends were’ and how ‘Jenni had cornered him to interrogate him while Luna hovered behind her, menacingly holding a nail-gun’.

I had never felt more loved and supported by my friends.

My phone dings, and I quickly hasten to put it on silent, shooting an embarrassed and apologetic look around the library. It seems like most people have headphones in, and I let out a sigh of relief. No one wants to be that one loud person in the library.

Checking my notifications, I smile when I see it’s a SnapChat from Hobi in the group chat the boys created a few weeks ago. My thumb swipes it open, and I barely contain myself from announcing to the whole library how vibrantly handsome one of my potential boyfriends is.

I quickly send a SnapChat back of me and my stack of books in the library with the caption ‘send help in the form of coffee’.

Immediately, Taehyung sends a flurry of heart eyes emojis in the chat, Jungkook sends a ‘noona is so cute’, and Yoongi sends back a picture of a black screen with the caption ‘come nap with me’.

God, I would love to nap with Yoongi right now… Alone time with the older boy is so elusively precious. One day last week at their house, I had mentioned wanting to learn piano. Yoongi had just grabbed my hand and tugged me to his room. We had spent a couple hours together in the small corner of his room playing on his keyboard.

Well, he had been playing; I had been fumbling around like a buffoon - half uncoordinated in general and half flustered by how good Yoongi looked playing. His hands had been so nimble as they flew over the keys, crafting melodies I could only assume he had composed. His focus had been so fucking hot as he nodded slightly along to the tempo in his head, his eyes shooting over to look at me every once in a while.

My hand kink? Activated.

My willpower to not kiss the shit out of Yoongi? Nonexistent.

When Yoongi had paused in between songs, I may or may not have grabbed him by his shirt collar and kissed him. His blushing attempt to dodge me had been so cute; and when I had stopped trying to kiss him, he had pouted and then kissed me instead.

What a cutie…

A giggle draws my attention from my reminiscing. At first, I pay it no mind, taking it as a directive to dive back into my studies. But then, the whispering starts.

“I heard she’s fucking her way through the whole house.”

“Isn’t there a term for that?”

“Yeah, a frat rat.”

I slam my 500-page textbook closed and stand, leveling the duo of gossiping girls with a glare that could make grown men cry. It had before when I had to properly eviscerate my uncle in defense of feminism at our last family gathering. What a time that had been.

“Is there a problem?” I force the question through gritted teeth, stalking over towards their nearby table. I relish in the way they gape at me, eyes wide and pupils quivering, “I’m sorry. I’m afraid my complaint jar is at capacity. Please don’t try again later.”

The girl on the right gulps, “No-nope, there’s no problem! We were just leaving. Right, Janika?”

“No,” The girl who had called me a ‘frat rat’ just moments before crosses her arms and stands, “I do, like, have a problem.”

“Janika,” The other girl tugs on the sleeve of the one standing, “Don’t.”

“Yeah, Janika,” I smile, “Don’t.”

I can see the moment she snaps.

“You’re, like, such a fucking bitch! I don’t know what they all see in you. Oh wait, yes I do. You’re fucking easy.”

I consider myself to be a patient person, but having to endure this type of rant against my character - and against women’s sexual freedom in general - has pushed me well past my limits.

“Now, listen here, Janika,” I take another step forward, “You can keep talking your shit. I really don’t give a flying fuck what you think about me. But I really advise you to google ‘how to stop slut-shaming for dummies’ because it seems like you need a crash course.”

Janika’s face darkens, “Whatever. They’ll get tired of you anyway.”

“Yeah,” I let out an amused laugh, “I’m sure they’ll get real tired of me choking on their dicks every night.”

Letting out a gasp, Janika whirls back around to face her silent friend, “Let’s go. I don’t want to, like, be around her any longer.”

“Buh-bye now,”I wiggle my fingers in their direction as they shuffle out of the library.

Smiling in satisfaction, I head back towards my table. Without hesitation, I gather my books and belongings and head upstairs to the quiet floor. Any more distractions or confrontations would probably make my blood pressure pop off the charts.

The quiet floor, as one of my safe havens, is home to several small private study rooms. Peering into each, I start to lose hope that any would be available. Finally, the very last room proves me wrong, and I swing open the door and almost in tears over the sweet, sweet solitude.

This particular study room is tucked away in the very far corner of the library’s second floor. Not many people are aware of its location, and it seems that paid off for me today. Plopping my things down across the table in the center of the tiny room, I follow suit and drop down into one of the two chairs adjoining the table.

What a clusterfuck of an afternoon… This sadly isn’t the first time I’ve heard some comments being made about my association with the BTS boys, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. Yet, part of me knew all along that this would be the trade-off.

After all, what are a few irrelevant opinions to seven gorgeous and loyal partners? Inconsequential - in my opinion. That is the reason why I haven’t breathed a word of the backlash to anyone.

Sighing, I flip open my textbook to where I had been before being rudely interrupted.

The amygdala plays a key role in emotion and behavior…

“Noona?”

I jump a half-mile out of my chair, slapping a hand over my pounding heart. Jimin had somehow managed to enter the room without my knowledge. Had he fucking teleported?

Holding a giant iced coffee in one hand and a cinnamon bun in the other, Jimin beams at me and ignores the fact he just scared the living shit out of me. “Hi, noona! I saw your SnapChat while I was in class, and I came here as soon as I could.”

I stare dumbfounded at the angel before me. Jimin is slightly out of breath with reddened cheeks and a sweaty brow. His black track-pants are slung low on his hips, his long-sleeve white t-shirt clings to his torso, his black duffle bag thrown carelessly over one shoulder. He must have run over straight from dance class.

Standing abruptly, I stalk over to where Jimin is still posted up by the doorway to the study room. Toe to toe with him, I blurt out while still half in a daze, “You really brought me coffee and food?”

He eyes me warily like I might suddenly jump on him at any moment. Shifting his weight back and forth, Jimin hesitantly replies, “Um, yes?"

I take the coffee and cinnamon bun from his hands, place them on the table, and then tackle him with the biggest hug. "You absolute sweetheart!" I murmur into the crook of his neck, "This made my day. Thank you, Jimin-ie."

His hands tentatively wrap around me, pulling me closer. "You're welcome, noona. I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Well, I really appreciate it, baby,” My lips brush over the crevice of his collarbone and relish in his shudder. Bringing my head up to face his, I smile widely at him, “Can I kiss you, Jimin-ie?”

“Yes,” He sighs out, eyes already closing in anticipation. I press my lips to his, still smiling softly against his mouth. His lips are plush under mine, velvety soft. My tongue swipes across his bottom lip and— Is that coffee I taste?

I pull back, “Jimin, did you sip my coffee on your way here?”

The boy looks rightfully alarmed, “I– y-yes. But only a little, noona!”

Cute.

“Hmm,” I trail my fingers down his chest, “I guess I’ll make an exception for you this time since you were the one to bring it for me.”

Jimin relaxes slightly, but his expression is strangely disappointed. I stare at him quizzically, and he blushes.

“What is it?” I lean against the table, facing him.

He clears his throat, staring intensely at the ground, “You can still punish me if you want, (y/n)-noona.”

My eyebrows shoot upwards at his offer, and then I let out a slight chuckle, “Oh, Jimin… That would be a favor to you, wouldn’t it? My baby boy wants to be punished, hm? Did dance practice make you all hot and bothered? Jungkook tells me that has been happening to you lately.”

Jimin’s face explodes in color as he mutters, “That little bitch will pay for this.”

Suddenly, the door swings open with a resounding thud, nearly clipping Jimin in the shoulder.

“Your savior has arrived!” Kim Seokjin announces loudly in spite of the studiously silent atmosphere of the quiet floor. His hands hold two steaming hot travel mugs, which I can only guess are filled with the elixir of the gods (aka coffee).

Seokjin’s eyes glance around the room as he takes in the fact that I’m not alone as he obviously had expected. “Wait, Jimin-ie? What are you doing here?” Jin’s eyes flick down to the coffee and cinnamon roll that lay on the table. “Goddamn it!”

“You were too slow, hyung,” Jimin smirks happily as he takes a seat in the chair I had previously vacated. He slouches smugly as he stares up at the fuming older boy.

“Too slow?!” Jin roars.

“Jin,” I chastise, circumventing around him to shut the door.

“Sorry, babe,” Seokjin says while still glaring daggers at the all-too-pleased Jimin. Suddenly, his expression changes into a sneaky look that makes me both want to run and jump his bones. “Well,” He waves the two coffee mugs around in the air, “I made these myself - with love. I didn’t buy that generic shit; I brewed it, baby.”

It’s Jimin’s turn again to look disgruntled, and I can’t help but laugh at their antics.

“Any and all coffee is appreciated and loved by me – the more the merrier. So, thank you both,” You say, taking one of the travel mugs from Seokjin. Kissing his cheek, you turn back to sit opposite Jimin at the table.

“She kissed me on the lips!” Jimin bursts.

“Park Jimin!” I cry as Jin splutters some sort of incoherent rant about fairness and equality.

Jimin holds eye contact with me, still leaning back in his chair like he’s the king of the fucking universe. But, he’s not; I am.

My chair hits the wall behind me with a bang as I stand, planting my hands on the table to loom over Jimin. “Do you think it’s fun to push your hyung, Jimin? Does it amuse you to be a little shit?”

I can see the moment that Jimin decides to be a brat. His eyes heat up in a challenge, and he firmly answers, “Yes, noona.”

“Get up.” The change in my tone is apparent. Jimin gulps. Getting to his feet, he stares back at me expectantly.

“Jin,” I address the older boy while still maintaining eye contact with Jimin, “What kind of punishment do you think I should give our Jimin here?”

Seokjin rounds my other side, grinning, “Well, (y/n) darling, I believe he should get spanked.”

“Interesting choice,” I murmur, turning to face Jin, “That’s what you’re going to get then.”

“What?” Jin squawks, arms waving rapidly around in the air, “But I didn’t do anything!”

“Nothing is what you should have done, Jin,” I push him against the wall, “You know better than to let Jimin rile you up like this.”

Those plump lips of his pout dramatically as he whines, “But, (y/n)…”

“But nothing,” I say and then whirl around to face the other boy. He’s still standing where I left him with his eyes glued to the pair of us. “Jimin,” I hold his gaze, “You’re going to watch. You’re not going to touch yourself, your hyung isn’t going to touch you, and I’m not going to touch you.”

His eyes widen comically, “No! That’s not fair!”

“Do you want to be gagged, too, baby boy?” I ask, cocking my head slightly. Seeing his emphatic head shakes, I grin. “That’s what I thought. Now, stay.”

Turning back to Jin, I smirk slightly as I ask, “Punishment now or later?”

Seokjin’s eyes scrunch cutely in confusion, “What?”

“You see,” I move closer to him, my body brushes his, “I think you earned a punishment, but I think you also earned helping me punish Jimin.”

A wide grin crosses Jin’s face as he glances back at the corner Jimin is stewing in. “I would be honored to help you punish him, babe.”

“That’s what I figured,” I smile briefly at him before slowly sliding my hands up his chest to rest on the nape of his neck. Holding them there, I press the lightest of kisses to the corner of his lips.

Jin’s breath hitches in his throat.

I run my tongue against the seam of his mouth, taking my time and savoring the sweet taste of him. His lips part to let me in, my tongue sliding across his. I grind against him as we kiss, moving my hips in such a way that makes him groan and lean back harder against the wall.

“What the fuck is going on in here?”

Ripping my mouth from Jin’s, I turn to face the newcomer.

Namjoon stands in the doorway holding yet another cup of coffee, his face thunderous. "What do the three of you think you're doing? This is the goddamn library, you heathens!”

Seokjin jumps out of his skin in fright, pushing me away faster than I can anticipate. Stumbling back, I crash into Jimin – who apparently had ventured out of his assigned corner. Brat.

“The shades were open!” Namjoon continues to rant as he flicks the aforementioned item down to cover the door’s window, “Did you want people to see you?”

He reads the expression on my face correctly, “Oh, but you did, didn’t you, (y/n)?” Namjoon approaches where I’m still captured in Jimin’s embrace. Glaring down at me, he taunts, “So quick to stake your claim; but, make no mistake, they were mine first.”

Shaking out of Jimin’s hold, I straighten, raising my chin to meet Namjoon’s gaze full-on, “That’s interesting. I didn’t realize you were so lenient with your partners.”

Jimin makes a choking noise behind me. Jin stands behind Namjoon, waving a hand in front of his throat to clearly tell me to stop talking. I keep going, “Perhaps I need to teach you how to discipline.”

Namjoon flips me around, shoves Jimin out of the way, and bends me facedown across the table.

“Jin,” He says, his voice growly, “Stand in the hall and let me know if you can hear us.”

The sound of the door opening and closing alerts me that Jin followed Namjoon’s instructions without a word.

“Jimin,” He continues, “Hold (y/n)’s hands out in front of her.” Jimin ascquieces, staring apologetically down at me as he tugs my hands towards him.

“This is cute,” I say, “I always love holding Jimin-ie’s hands.”

Thwack. The stinging imprint of Namjoon’s palm on my ass burns deliciously. I arch my back, looking over my shoulder at him with a half-smile. “Do it harder, daddy.”

A breath sucks in between his lips as I utter the word I know will get him feeling as hot as me. “You’re playing a dangerous game, baby girl,” Namjoon grits out, his jaw clenched tightly.

“Oh, daddy,” I say, “Don’t you remember? I’m the fucking Queen.”

“Was that a chess pun? Nice.” A muffled voice followed by a squeaky laugh sounds through the door.

“Seokjin,” Namjoon seethes, flying over to open the door and drag the older boy back inside, “I thought I told you to let me know if you could hear us.”

I tug out of Jimin’s gentle hold, straighten back up, and then situate myself into a sitting position on the table.

I watch amusedly as Jin shimmies his way out of Joon’s grasp, “Yah! It’s not my fault I get intense FOMO. Don’t hate the player, hate the game. Besides, I only heard you because I had my ear pressed to the door.”

Jimin stifles a giggle. I let out a full-on laugh. Namjoon mumbles what sounds like a plea to some higher power under his breath.

“See what I have to deal with?” Namjoon turns to me, shaking his head. “Are you sure you want to sign up for this?”

“That depends,” I swing my legs back and forth as I stay perched on the table, “Are you going to keep spanking me?”

The boy who had just unhesitatingly bent me over to punish me now blushes and rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, probably? You have quite a mouth on you, baby.”

Hopping off the table, I laugh, “Good answer. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

“Woo!” Jin cheers, “Nice job on the House Points, Joon-ie!”

“I am in love with idiots,” Jimin sighs.

Grabbing my phone from my backpack, I let out a slight yell as I read the time. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” I scramble to shove all of my textbooks back into my bag.

“What is it, noona?” Jimin worries, appearing next to me. “Are you late for class?”

“No,” I cry, “It’s so much worse. I’m late for my weekly Animal Crossing discord chat! Heath is gonna kill me…”

“Heath?” Jin scowls, “Who is this Heath you speak of?”

“Chill, fam,” I shrug my backpack onto my shoulders and stare contemplatively down at the three different coffees. “You can’t get jealous every time I mention a new person. What’s next? You’re gonna come for Tom Nook?”

Namjoon - who must play Animal Crossing - stifles a laugh as Jin pouts. “She has a point, Jin.”

“And so does a pencil. Big whoop,” Jin scowls with his arms folded.

“Aw, Seokjin-ie,” I coo, reaching over to pinch his cheek, “Don’t be mad. You’ll get to spend all day with me on Saturday after volunteering! What are we doing, anyways?” I level Joon with my best side-eye as I ask that question, knowing he is more likely than not the mastermind behind our planned date.

“It’s going to be great, noona!” Jimin pipes up, hugging me from the side, “You’re going to love it…You’re going to love us.” He murmurs the last part, probably not meaning for me to hear; but, I do.

God, I do.

“We’ll pick you up before volunteering,” Joon says, “Just bring yourself and a change of clothes.”

“What?” I decide - fuck it - and attempt to grab all three coffees, “No overnight bag?”

Jin, who had just taken a sip of his own coffee, spews it everywhere. “Pack one,” He gasps out in between coughs.

Laughing, I walk to the door, which Jimin kindly opens for me. “Okay, I’ll think about it. Ah, I’m so late. Jimin and Jin, I’ll punish you at a later time. Joon, you can try to punish me at a later time.” Living for their astonished expressions, I wave as best I can with three coffees in hand, “Bye, babes! Text me-e-e.”

As I make my way out of the library, it hits me that I only have one more day to prepare for this date. Fucking hell…

a/n: this is such a filler of a chap with a tinge of drama mixed in, hehe. the next one is gonna be that date tho uwu stay tuuuuuuned and thanks 4 reading

taglist: @catsandstrawberries @h5naaa @meowmeowyoongles @leftflowerprunedonut @rjsmochii @athletes-of-god @karissassirak @cage7241​ @weallhavesecretsinthebestway @cvbachacbitch @honeyspillings @valiantcollectorofsandwiches @fivesecondsofsarang @oii-f-eli-x2 @joonsroses @theevilyouknow @jooniescupcakes @expensive-grl @i-dont-even-know-fck @doingmybestalltheftime @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh @laced-brds @breeeeh17 @lpayne612 @peachyharmoney @rilakoya @chulchuchi @tabula-rasa0 @guccishookv @nomimits7 @i-like-puppy-mg @s-noir @anna-sorel @im-a-space-child @yeontanismypresident @drowning-in-oxygen @team-wang-puppy @lvvegood @anongirl007 @may114 @r-e-d-i-s-h @unatempesta-dipensieri @dragon-rider-with-a-book​ @blueberrygeniejam @wondrsblog @vi-hoshi @kirbykook​ @katemwatson​ @kawaiikpoplover268​ @amsteramyy​ @sami4life @a-feeling-of-euphoria​ @the-jackals​ @bubbletae7​ @platinum-grenade​ @bunnyboyenthusiast @brightly-byun @oofmeintheheadpls​ @sadboibts @lidda​ @goldenwidow3​ @t-mel19​ @lmkjimin​ @psiphidragon​ @jeon-joker​ @sathom013​ @lustremyg @ggsmashgg​ @justyouraveragerando​ @shadowstark​ @our-little-meow-meow @baby-hobii @toddsgirl27​ @mythicalmeep​ @asifetch7​ @kassandravictoria​ @eltrain80 @briannasthings​ @bumblekey93​ @ohmwreckr @beach-bitch-bitch-beach​ @softchimmee​ @kookoo-kachoo​ @lenuminous​ @ass-hole-in-one​ @peaches-422​ @spacejooon​ @sleepyje0n​ @uxwi​ @tellmeyoulovemepls​ @yady24​ @lovesick-heart0​ @redirect-min​ @hopetookourvibe​ @noonaduck​ @mini-coop25​ @multifandomgirl29​ @rhd31​ @yoongixvevo​ @sweetnspicy93​ @kuppyjiminie​ @love-and-other-possibilities​ @fuckyouandtheboatyoucamein @rvnchr4nd4​ @geminidrawsstuff​ @livorna​ @naajix​ @minjoonhome​

another a/n: if u asked to be added to the taglist and u did not get tagged, u might be one of the couple ppl that i couldn’t tag [check ur settings, fam!]

[mediocre--writing]

The One Where Bucky’s Not Ready (Headcannon)

Bucky Barnes X Neutral!Teeange!Reader

(also kinda Reader X boyfriend)

Summary: You’re Bucky’s kid and one of the most mature, intelligent kids ever, but when you don’t come home after Winter Formal, Bucky flips out. (Based on season 1, episode 9 of Gilmore Girls)

Word Count: 1670

Warnings: Allusion to doing the dirty, but nothing mature

so, you’re like the best child known to man

like you have one of the best GPAs in your school

(and the state, lets be honest here)

you have never done anything wrong in your life, aside from like maybe yell at someone

(but it was 9th grade and they shouldn’t have been bullying the sweet, little, harmless, unwillingly outed gay boy in homeroom)

ANYWAY

it’s finally 11th grade and you get to go to the upperclassmen dances

like the winter formal and prom

fun times, dancing, music, and best of all, free food

you’re also going with your first boyfriend and you bought a new outfit that was a deep blue with a white mesh that sparkles like stars on the bottom

so you were excited to say the least

BUT

bucky has been dreading this day

he’s been dreading this day for a WHILE

because his little baby is growing up and they look beautiful but they’re going with a BOY

so you could say he’s a bit nervous

possibly a bit paranoid

no

completely and utterly horrified because HIS PRECIOUS LITTLE BABY and A BOY are driving THEMSELVES to a sparsely supervised high school dance

and he KNOWS what can happen at high school dances

oh yeah

he, too, was a kid once (hard to believe but true)

but he let you go

he did a bit of a background check on the sketchy looking boy but apparently he’s still just an ‘innocent little 17-year old boy’

he thinks that’s bull crap

and he asked tony to check but he just doesn’t think it’s right

so he had virtually no excuse to not let you go

he tried

“but what if he’s a bad driver?”

“are you sure he’s really that nice? he could be faking”

“but what if [insert ridiculous dad-type thing he’d say here]

it was endless

but when your date came to the door and your face lit up with a childish grin, bucky knew that he couldn’t hold you back anymore

you were growing up

it didn’t mean he would stop worrying

because it’s bucky and he’s never NOT worried once in his damn life

like have you met steve???

he has reason to believe you’d get into some sort of mess

but he couldn’t stop you from doing things anymore

so he reminds you of something that you forgot to grab earlier

and gives the boy a “sTeRn tAlKiNg tO”

more like a few death threats followed by sarcastic chuckles

and serial killer glares

but once you returned from upstairs, it was all fine and dandy

albeit your fidgeting date

so you went off with your boyfriend and had a wonderful time at the dance

you both ate more than you should have

you danced together

even a slow dance that was incredibly awkward and you both MAY have stepped on each others toes

six times

...each

but it was fine

and to your dads surprise, you weren’t exceedingly drunk by the time people were leaving

‘cause you didn’t drink anything but water

because you’re a goodie-two-shoes

but you still know how to have fun!!!

but you guys weren’t tired, and it was only 10:30

and bucky said you didn’t have to be back until midnight

so you did the rational thing

and went to mcdonald’s

because you’re growing children and need all the nourishment you can get

(“mcdonald’s isn’t providing any sort of nourishing food” “shut up steven”)

but you guys had fun

and you went on your way back home

but you forgot you had left your laptop at the avengers compound

and so you made a quick stop before heading home

but since it was closer to midnight than you thought, nobody knew you had gone in to grab something

and as you made your way up to the guest wing where you would do homework in between yours or your fathers training

and you grabbed your laptop

but your date flopped on the bed like a giddy child, bouncing up and down

“did you know this room had a wAtErBeD?!?!”

the buffoon

but you just chuckled as he laid down

he sat against the headboard and threw his hands behind his head

hitting a panel

which turned on the flashing LED lights and the tv that appeared seemingly out of the wall

ya boi was having heart palpitations for this room

he wasn’t even coherent at this point

just giggling and bouncing on the waterbed

but he had the CUTEST SMILE

and he was smiling so bright the crows feet around his eyes made an appearance

so you took of your shoes because

“damnit heels HURT after hours of dancing”

and you jumped on the bed with him

and you guys laid there for a moment

or what you thought was a moment

because you were both giggling

then you both had fallen asleep

but bucky trusted you and he was asleep by 9:45 that night

because he knew you would be home on time

oh boy oh boy oh boy

when he woke up to his phone ringing

and it was steve asking if he wanted to go on an early morning run

bucky was already in a bad mood

but agreed to go

so he went downstairs to check on you in your room

but oh boy the bed is empty

and bucky’s thinking rationally like you’re probably safe at a friends or whatever

but he’s never had the talk with you

he thinks you’ve mentioned it to natasha at some point or another

but he’s never addressed it

and he DOES NOT WANT YOU DOING MATURE THINGS AT 16

he doesn’t want to be a grandpa yet

he’s barely gotten used to the father thing and he’s been a father for like 16 years

but he’s not READY FOR THAT

AND NEITHER ARE YOU

but little does he know that while he’s talking to steve on the phone while freaking out

that tony motherfuckin stark is laughing his ass off because he can hear steve and bucky talking because steve’s phone’s volume is always way too loud

(#OldPeopleThings)

and he can hear steve trying to reassure bucky that

“the child was raised by assassins she’s PROBABLY NOT DEAD”

but tony’s just looking at his guest room where there are flashing LED lights still on and two (FULLY DRESSED and obviously very tired) teenagers sleeping on a waterbed

so he goes to steve and pulls him by the back of the shirt to the guest room and just points

and steve snorts (very loudly), which wakes up the kiddos

and bucky is SCREAMING

like no filter cussing out steve because

“WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING I DONT WANT GRANDKIDS YET AND MY KID IS GONE”

but once you’re fully awake and realize that the sun is up, you’re not in your room, and steve and tony and YOUR BOYFRIEND are in a room with you

and your eyes widen

and then you realize

you fucked up.

so you grab your heels and phone and BOLT out that door

you don’t even have your car because you drove with your date

but you sprint to tony’s garage

because you can apologized or taking one of his cars later but you can’t do that if your dad kills you

so you’re def speeding

because you’ve never done anything bad and you can’t have this make your dad not trust you anymore

but back at the compound your bf and steve and tony are all talking to bucky on speakerphone

which is an event in itself

“barnes your kid is in my car driving to your house”

“no! i wanna talk to the BOY!”

said boy is terrified

“mr. barnes, bucky, james, sergeant, sir i didn’t do anything with y/n i promise”

“i don’t trust him! steve is he lying????”

“how the fuck am i supposed to know i’ve met the kid like three times?”

***exasperated sigh***

“wait she just pulled into the driveway!”

so you come inside

still holding your shoes you never bothered to put on

and bucky is just standing there

watching you

with his serial killer eyes

the ones that don’t scare you

or so you thought

“so.....

[dramatic pause]

where were you???”

and jeeze you’ve never talked faster than that moment

any and all of the speeches you’ve given are noting compared to the utter BULLSHIT coming out of your mouth right now

and your shaking and bucky realizes then

you’d never do anything like that yet

he’s being an overprotective dad

because you still ask him to drive your own car

and you still ask him to braid your hair when you want it to look SUPER GOOD

and you aren’t a complete idiot

and even if you DID DO IT, you would’ve been smart about it

and he realizes that you’re perfect

and that even though you’re a teenager you are more mature than most adults 

so he does the smart thing

he takes the shoes and your phone out of your hands gently

sets them on the table by the door

and he hugs you

really tight

LIKE REALLY TIGHT

“dad you’re hurting me”

he lets go and has tears in his eyes

“i know you didn’t do anything but you’re growing up and i’m gonna miss my baby”

and you tear up a bit

and bucky’s phone rings

it’s steve

but it’s NOT

ITS BOYFRIEND

“sir i swear we didn’t do anything. we fell asleep and mr america said that i should call you but i didn’t have your number and he gave me his phone and i’m really sorry but don’t make us break up because i REALLY like y/n and she’s important to me and i don’t want to lose them yet and i just feel awful”

and bucky hangs up in the middle of THAT

and texts steve

“tell that kid to calm down nothings gonna happen to him

...

......

unless he does it again”

[hey-hamlet]

BNHA AU Ideas : The Original Sin

Also on AO3! 

TL;DR: 

Midoriya Izuku is born incomplete, part of him lacking in a way that makes him abnormal - inhuman. When he turns nine, this changes.

( shamelessly based of the young loki storyline in marvel comics a while ago with the title stolen from there as well. Look - "I am the crime that can not be forgiven." is a baller line ok.)

Midoriya Izuku is born blue and silent. There is no gentle rise and fall of his chest, no pulse, no movement. The Doctors whisk him away in a blur of activity – they tell Inko they will do everything they can. They do not expect a happy ending.

20 Minutes later, Izuku begins to breath on his own. With no previous reaction to treatment this spontaneous respiration is shocking. They expect major brain damage, only to see the infant open his eyes and squint in the bright light of the room. He yawns. They cheer.

They return him to his near hysterical mother’s room. He’s hooked up to countless monitors, but they assure her its just a precaution. She is warned he may have some form of brain damage that will become apparent as he grows, but he is alive and healthy and that in itself they can promise.

Inko cries – her son is alive and he is smiling and that’s all she could ever ask for.

Izuku grows up strange. As a baby he rarely cries – so rarely in fact that Inko can’t stand to have him sleep in a different room, so scared her near silent son will drift away without her knowing. He never does. He seems to understand her from day one as she tells him stories about heroes and dragons. His little hands wipe her tears as she cries. She doesn’t know how, but her son is special.

He doesn’t speak a word until he goes to daycare and meets a firecracker blonde, upon which he shows he can speak far better than most of his peers.

Despite this he seems somehow – lacking – to the other children. Like he’s missing something he needs to be one of them, to be human. They hurt him and push him and take his things. He does not cry.

The only child mostly unaffected by this is Katsuki. He still admits Izuku is a “weirdo”, but he’s smart and fast, sure on his feet with dexterous hands. He seems somehow older and younger than all of the other children in a way that makes adults baby him, but children fear him. Katsuki will not be scared.

Katsuki gets his quirk first. It’s bright and colourful and everything they expected from him.

He asks Izuku about his quirk. His looks into the middle distance for a moment before smiling. It’s small but bright as ever. “Mine will be late.” He then frowns, looking down at his own two hands. They seem ever so small at the moment. “Not sure why.”

Inko asks if he wants to go to the doctor, to see if he has a quirk. Izuku shakes his head gently. “I have one – I know I do. It’ll be late though.” Inko asks him if hes sure, but she trusts her son. He’s much smarter than they remember to give him credit for.

Still, the others don’t believe him. He grows up labelled quirkless with all it brings. Katsuki stays by his side, the quiet and kind boy is something different from the extras - he knows this as well as he knows the sun will rise. They make an interesting pair. One quiet, calm, too knowing, the other brash and loud. They are both whip smart.

Izuku has an eye for quirks better than anyone, always teasing out their mechanisms and probably limitations faster than someone with decades of experience. Katsuki is convinced this will prove to be an aspect of the elusive quirk that refuses to show itself.

Izuku dreams of horrors he has never seen – blood on his hands and quirks at his fingertips. He feels powerful but oh so alone. In the dark on night when he retches silently into his bin, the feeling of hot blood still so real under his shaking hands, he vows to be nothing like the man in this dreams.

Never again.

Izuku is nine when it happens. Katsuki is dragging him through the forest excitedly, hands warm and gently crackling in his own. His head begins to ache.

What started as a nagging irritation quickly shifts into a blinding pain worse than anything Izuku has ever felt in his life. He stumbles to the ground, clutching as his head and he screams and sobs, tears hot down his face.

Katsuki has seen Izuku cry plenty – but never from pain. Not when they got their shots, not when the bully from two grades about them slammed his fingers in the heavy oak door, not when he felt from the tree Katsuki had begged him to climb; bone sharp and pink through his skin. Katsuki wraps his arms around his friend and screams for help.

The screaming stops. Izuku slumps. Katsuki panics. He can feel his friend’s breath on his shoulder but he will not wake. Katsuki can only hold his friend and hope.

All for One had known this day would come. He had known All Might would kill him – it was only a matter of time. That’s why he had a plan B.

A quirk he’d stolen nine odd years ago, creating a shell his mind and quirk would snap to upon his original body’s death. It would kill the original holder of the body, ideally leaving nothing more than an empty shell of a person he would become should he die. He felt some what bad knowing he had killed an infant before it got to draw it’s first breath, but the feeling was fleeting. He had work to do.

He watches Izuku grow. He always had a link to the boy – something about him being an extension of himself making it ever so easy to find him. The boy’s soul – because what else could it be – is stubborn. Parts of it linger in the body, only growing stronger as he ages. He can’t help be grow fond of him. The boy is almost like a son to him, in some strange and twisted way. A creature that should have died but refused to at every turn. All for One could empathise.

That’s why, them All Might’s final blow falls, he feels a flicker of sorrow. Izuku would be no more soon, simply a body he would wear as a puppet. There was no choice though. His work was not yet done.

All for One / Izuku finds themselves in a world of pain, two souls waring for life in a body that can only hold one. What astounds them the most is that Izuku is winning.

All for One plunges them into darkness – away from the pain, so they can talk. They have a time limit though, they are tearing the small body to pieces from the inside out.

Izuku doesn’t want to force All for One out – that will kill him. All for One doesn’t want him dead either. They strike a deal : Izuku will keep his own body until he dies, All for One’s quirk his to use (though the man will keep every quirk he’s personally acquired close to his chest). When Izuku dies – as he will, All for One insists, because the boy wants to be a hero – All for One will take control. They agree.

Izuku opens his eyes and smiles. What once was dull green is now bright and electric, flickers of crystalline white running through them. Izuku feels whole – normal. That makes Katsuki worried most of all.

He explains everything to his only friend – everything he knows. Its not a lot admittedly, only that there is someone else in his head now – their quirk his to use, and that when he dies he will no longer be himself. They do not tell Inko. They train – they will become heroes.

All Might meets Izuku under the bridge, a scraggly man trying to wring his neck as he screams incoherently. All Might knocks out the man before asking is Izuku has seen the villain he was looking for. Understanding blooms in the child’s eyes and suddenly the man on the floor is liquid once again. All Might feels deathly cold.

Izuku gets his autograph, the strange man sharing his mind griping idly about the “blond buffoon” as he insits on calling All Might. Izuku doesn’t mind, ecstatic to meet his hero. He doesn’t miss the flinch on All Might’s face when he lets the man’s quirk flow back into him, but he brushes it away. Everyone is scared of his quirk, its nothing new.

As All Might is distracted by memories long after the boy leaves, the slime villain slinks away

Izuku saves Katsuki, clutching the boy’s own quirk in his gentle grasp, pulling it into his own fold ever so gently, never truly severing it from the blonde. The villain recoils from the blasts as Izuku pulls his friend. All Might swoops in.

Later he asks to train the boy – revealing his smaller side. He says nothing of One for All. He is considering it but he is so scared of any possible connections to All for One he dares not mention it. Izuku takes this with a smile and open arms.

Other stuff:

Izuku is told about One for All a few months in to training because All Might sees his boy is good and kind and nothing like the monster the thought he could be. Izuku immediately goes on about all of the good someone with All Might’s quirk could do, never once assuming it would be his to use. That makes up All Might’s mind – he will pass it to him.

Izuku calls All for One Zero. For All for One it’s kind of a pun about he is One for All wielder number 0. He starts calling Izuku Ninth, or Niner just before he get’s One for All – Izuku thinks it’s a pun on his name.

Izuku can both take quirks and borrow them. Taking them severs their connection from the wielder, borrowing them is just like holding them for a second – they snap back when he stops paying attention. Borrowing is faster and easier and can be reversed without contact. Taking means he will keep the quirk even if he is knocked out or stops concentrating – he tries to avoid doing that because it hurts to give them back and he doesn’t trust himself to do it no matter how guilty stealing something would make him feel.

All for One is actually big soft on Izuku and really doesn’t want the boy dead. He chats to him a lot, offers to help him cheat on tests – which Izuku never takes – and subtly heals their shared body while Izuku sleeps. He wants to kill the children who hurt him. Izuku can’t bare the thought.

All for One and Katsuki get along like a house on fire, even if their interactions are all mediated through Izuku serving as a mouth piece, and its scary. Katsuki and Inko were the only people he told about Zero until All Might. Others in 1A find out at various points in time.

Izuku eventually finds out about the weird quirk hes a part of and has a crisis knowing he is not the Izuku that should have been born into the world. He tells his mother, expecting her to hate him, but she only smiles. "You're still my son - I couldn't ask for anyone better."

[giingers]

About Time (part two)

Request: Angsty protective Tommy imagine!!              

Note: I hope you like part two everyone! I guess this is where the protective angst comes in. This is a loooong one so strap in! 

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Warnings: violence, blood, lots of cursing

If anyone wants to be added to the tag list let me know! 

Tag list: @crazyonesarethebest

@peachyblinderss

Part One                                         

The Garrison was louder tonight than it usually was, the pub packed with obnoxious and foul mouthed civilians that all seemed to have one great and equal purpose. To irritate Tommy Shelby. Well, according to his now very irritated mind that was. 

His knuckles were bone white as he thrummed one hand on the table in the private room, the other hand bringing his fifth cigarette to his mouth. He took a long and grateful drag, letting that ashy taste consume his lungs before he blew out the white puff of pollution, letting it swirl above his head like a physical embodiment of his thoughts. Since he’d stepped foot in the pub at exactly eight o’clock he had not been able to settle himself comfortably. 

His roaming eyes that were ever watchful, kept peering at the door each time it was opened. But each time so far he had not laid eyes on the person he wanted to see the most. It was now nearing a quarter past nine, according to the pocket watch that hung from Arthur’s breast, and still you had not made an appearance. All sorts of reasons for your absence from the Garrison were running through Tommy’s head. 

What if somehow the man you’d been out with had brought you back to his place? What if you were now lying in his arms, being touched and caressed the way Tommy had always dreamed of loving you? What if, in some mad whimsical moment of female hysteria you had run away with this man? Jesus Christ, Tommy thought, he was turning into a quivering mess. 

“Will you stop that Tommy, eh? You’re doing me skull in” Arthur’s brash voice wavered to where Tommy was slumped against the leather seat and his eyes of violent blue met his brothers. 

“Yeah, you’ve been fucking tapping on that table for ages now. What’s gotten into you?” John asked with a smirk from where he sat beside Arthur, both brothers secretly gloating at their brother’s anguished state.

Back at the house, Pol had declared that Tommy must have realised he was in love after the revelation that y/n was heading out with another man. John had watched Tommy for an hour now, and had watched him slip in and out of awareness for any sort of conversation, instead choosing to madly glance at the door or tap his knuckles off the table. It was comical to watch since usually Tommy was the sort of bloke that was always frigid and seemingly uncaring, but now it seemed as if he was losing his sanity. 

If John were being honest with himself though, the thought of Tommy being in love with you was not a far fetched one. He had often seen how the two of you looked at each other or how soft his brother became around you, displaying a gentle way with his words he didn’t have with anyone else. 

“Nothing’s gotten into me. I’m fine” Tommy answered, running a hand over his face. 

“Nothing got to do with a certain young lady?” Arthur grinned widely, his eyebrows raising almost comically.

Tommy Shelby actually had the audacity to blush.

“Fuck off. Don’t be ridiculous” Tommy scoffed, realising his cigarette was gone. His hand shook a little when he brought a new one to his mouth and he watched confusedly as John nudged Arthur, his eyes mischievously tracing a figure in the near distance. 

“Really? Well we’ll see about that because she just walked in” 

Tommy stiffened where he sat, all nervousness floating from his body and being replaced by a hardy sort of awareness. This had been what he was waiting for all evening, and now the spying was about to begin. 

“Don’t fucking look, John! John, act natural for fuck sake” Tommy pointed his cigarette at him, a warning flashing across his stone cold features “we’re here for a drink. Nothing more, alright?” 

“Act natural, he says?” Arthur scoffed over the rim of his whiskey glass “as if we’re not here peeping on some poor innocent lass” 

Him and John erupted into a fit of snickers which made Tommy realise just how ridiculous this whole situation was. He was actually being quite pathetic if he was honest with himself, but he knew he wouldn’t have been able to rest knowing you were out with another man. At least this way he could keep an eye on things. Make sure you were safe. Yeah that was the reason, he told himself, your safety and not his own jealousy. 

He ignored the two buffoons who were now becoming inebriated from the amber liquid that sat in the half empty bottle, and peered out of the little window in the private room. 

His stomach dropped when he saw you, now sitting in the furthest booth from where he himself sat, and as he raked his eyes over your face he felt his heart constrict. You were heavenly in pin curls that cascaded down your face and in Ada’s skirt of red velvet and a chiffon blouse, a string of ivory pearls around your neck. Your lips were shiny and your cheeks a rose pink that gave you a dewy look, and your eyes that were framed in lines of smoky black were gazing at the man in front of you. You wouldn’t look out of place on a movie poster, Tommy thought. 

You were however, oblivious to the fact that Tommy was watching you with a fondness he always reserved for you alone, but then again he was certain you’d been oblivious to it your whole life. Ever since he’d realised that girls were pretty and kissable, he had made up his mind that he wanted you. He’d been young then but his infatuation had only grown from there, and now he had become entirely devoted to you even if you didn’t know it. 

He’d easily die for you if he had to, yet here you sat before him with another man. 

He’d annoyed you earlier with his overbearing interrogation, and a rather large part of him wanted to go and apologise to you. But he stayed rooted to where he was and watched you for another while. But when you beamed at your date widely he decided he’d seen enough and closed the window shut. If you were happy, he thought, then he’d have to let you be happy. No matter how much it hurt. 

_____________

The night air was welcome as you walked down the cobbled streets, getting further from the stench of ale that had permeated from The Garrison and closer to the promise of home. William had offered to walk you back and you had accepted after a little reluctance. But he’d been perfectly courteous all evening so you didn’t seem to really believe that him escorting you to your door would be a problem. 

The evening had went well and conversation had flowed, but there had been no spark at all and more times than one you’d wanted to be looking into another pair of eyes. Tommy had never been far from your mind at all during the evening, and his words from earlier had replayed and replayed in your head. 

Did he really only think of you as a little sister? Was friends all you’d ever be? Yes, the cynic that lived in your mind firmly told you. You never know unless you try, the optimist spurred you on. 

Your focus now went to your stumbling date who had been a little on the drunk side when you’d left The Garrison. A brick wall became his new companion as he leaned on it with both hands, heavy breaths leaving his lips as he tried to regain himself. You made your way over to him, one hand resting on his back as you peered at his face. 

“Are you alright, Will?” you asked him as your eyes peered into his rather glassy ones. He just looked at you without saying a word, and for a moment you thought he was about to throw up when he leaned forward, but before you knew it his lips were on yours. 

His skin was clammy and his breath smelled of ale and cigars, and the hands that came to push you against the wall were rough and hard. You wriggled away from him, the kiss not at all pleasant and tried to brush it off with a nervous smile. 

“I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink, William” you said breathlessly, your hands against the brick behind you to steady yourself. You tried to slither your way out of his grip but he only grabbed your arms tighter, yet again slamming his lips against yours. 

You tried to kick out at him but his hands were like vices and no matter how hard you struggled you just couldn’t break free. Your heart began to pound loudly in your chest when a rough hand grabbed the hem of your skirt, yanking it up as far as he could get it and grabbing at a thigh. You bit into his lip then as hard as you could and the taste of blood in your mouth almost made your head spin. You began to scream then as loud as you could, hoping someone would come to your aid. He withdrew from you then but his hand continued its assault under your skirt while the other came and slapped itself over your mouth. You tried to push him away but he was too heavy to budge. 

“You fucking little bitch!” he slurred, the smell of his hot breath fanning over your face and you squealed when his fingers came between your legs roughly. You could feel the hot tears pouring out of your eyes then and you tried to scream again even though his hand was clamped firmly over your mouth. 

The pearls around your neck were scattered along the cobbles like the last remnants of hope that you had as William began to recklessly tear at your clothes. Buttons flew off your chiffon blouse and you cried harder at the thought of being so openly exposed to him in your brassiere. You weren’t sure whether it was the alcohol or whether he was so violently possessed all the time. He had been a friend of Freddie Thorne, and only came through Birmingham once every while for work. You guessed his fleeting visits of different cities often resulted in this behaviour. 

“Please, someone help me!” you screamed when his hand left your mouth to come to his belt “Tommy! Tommy!” 

“Scream for your fucking tinker” he spat “I’m going to take you here and now, and no fucking Shelby scum is gonna get in the way” 

It was almost like the world’s supply of irony had manifested so viciously in that moment because all of a sudden William’s weight was removed from you and when your eyes narrowed in the dim lighting of the night you made out three shapes that were now making it their business to pulverise your attacker. 

“Tommy?” you blurted out in a voice that shook with panic, but he didn’t seem to hear you. He was like a predator in that moment, all lean and dangerous with eyes that burned with the most agonising fury. Arthur and John were now throwing punches that sounded deafeningly brutal as they collided with William’s body. How and when they had come upon your struggle was lost on you, but you had never been more grateful for anything in your life. 

Groans of pain filled the air and you watched on in horror as Tommy swiftly removed his hat, a glint of silver flittering through the air and then those groans turned to screams. Blood was gushing everywhere and it dripped onto the cobbled stones as William took a swing at Tommy that the Shelby expertly dodged. A crack reverberated off the ground as Tommy pushed your assailant to the wet pavement, and like a panther who was about to devour his prey, he jumped onto William and began to make work on his face. Punch after punch was delivered and despite the fact that this man had nearly tried to rape you, you felt an overwhelming sickness at the sounds of his bones crunching beneath Tommy’s knuckles. 

John was over to you in a flash, his arms wrapping around your body and trying his hardest to turn you the other way. You could feel Arthur’s eyes on your horrified face but he just stood and let Tommy carry out his violence. 

“Look away, y/n” John was saying in your ear “don’t look at it”

“Tommy stop” you said desperately as you struggled weakly in John’s arms “you’ll kill him!” 

For the first time since coming upon you being nearly taken by a man, he looked at you and your eyes were wide with horror as they met his. He stopped his pummelling with a closed fist raised in mid air, and he let those ravenous eyes of his settle on the face of the man who had been attacking you. He was bloody and cut and bruised, with eyes that were beginning to cloud over and Tommy sat atop him like an animal who attacks in the wild. His heart was hammering out of his chest and he could feel the adrenaline course through his blood stream. He wanted to finish this man off, to make him unrecognisable, to teach him a lesson that the only reward for messing with a Shelby is death. 

But you looked so weak and frail in John’s arms and your eyes were pleading with him to stop. So he did. He rose on shaking legs to stand up and walk towards you and when he was close to you he watched as you flung yourself at him, your hands balling the front of his tweed jacket. 

“Finish him off” Tommy said venomously, his eyes boring into John’s “make sure he understands what happens when someone touches my girl. I’ll take her home” 

You didn’t have time, nor were you in the right mental capacity to question the title of my girl that had just been bestowed on you. All of a sudden you felt Tommy’s large overcoat being placed around your shoulders to cover what little modesty you had left (your crème blouse torn open and hanging from your shoulders) and then you were being guided away from the scene. 

“Don’t look” Tommy said in a voice that was dangerously calm for a man that had just committed the most violent act you’d ever witnessed. 

“What will they do to him?” your own voice was shaking and your eyes darted to Tommy’s face, but no answer was given. The only response he gave you was wrapping an arm around your waist and hurrying you along. 

__________________

Back in your house Tommy worked on lighting a fire and boiling a copper kettle over the flames for tea while you headed upstairs to clean up and remove the clothes you now felt trapped in. The bath was scalding when you slipped into it, and by the time you were finished scrubbing your violated skin you were red and raw. You had stopped shaking at least, but every time you closed your eyes you pictured what could have happened if Tommy hadn’t of been there. 

You’d learned from him that the three brothers had been at The Garrison, a fact that had been unknown to you while you’d been there, and at around ten they’d decided to leave. They’d been halfway from home when they’d heard your screams. You knew the rest of the story, and you didn’t press for any more information on what the scene had looked like from Tommy’s point of view. You’d spent your time in the bath crying and worrying about what was going to happen to your saviours now that they all had William’s blood on their hands. 

When you eventually remerged downstairs you were puffy eyed and shivering despite the fact you were wrapped up in a dressing gown. Tommy was standing by the fire, his bruised and bloodied knuckles gripping a glass of whiskey. Another glass sat on the mantelpiece. 

He turned around when he heard your footsteps and you made your way towards him slowly. He watched you now with a carefulness he’d never displayed before, and when he took the glass of whiskey from the mantelpiece to give you he watched you as if in any moment you were going to break down. 

The whiskey was hot and ripe as you swallowed it in one gulp and for a moment it gave you that burning heat you felt you needed. But the warmth was gone in a second and you were back to feeling frozen. 

“You’re bleeding, Tommy” were the first words you spoke, and you set your glass back down to inspect his face. Your hands were cold, but Tommy sighed at the feeling of relief it brought to his bruised face. He’d pulverised William for sure, but the slimy prick had gotten a few swings in himself. A small cut from one of William’s rings now bled crimson over his brow bone, and he watched as your face crumpled with worry. 

“It’s alright. I’m alright” he told you, placing a hand over your smaller one and leaving it there in a gentle hold. Suddenly the air in the room got denser and it was hard to breathe, but you stayed rooted to the spot with your hand on Tommy’s face and your eyes becoming lost in his. His beautiful face contorted in a look of anguish then, his dark brows furrowing and for a moment he looked at you like this before you realised you had begun to cry. 

“You’re crying” he almost whispered, a softness coming over him that you never knew he was capable of. His hands came to hold your face then, rough and calloused skin caressing your soft and tear stained cheeks. 

“You’re hurt because of me” you blubbered helplessly, your eyes filling with tears “you’ll all probably go to prison because of me!” 

“Don’t you dare worry about us, we can take care of ourselves” Tommy hushed you, running his thumbs under your eyes to brush away the falling tears. 

“I didn’t want any of you to get in trouble for me. What will happen if the coppers come looking for you?” you were beginning to panic now at the vision you had of the three Shelby brothers being incarcerated for murder. Because of you. 

“Fuck the coppers. Fuck them all, you hear me?” he held your face and let those beautiful eyes of his bore into yours “I would murder every fucking man in Birmingham for you, do you understand? I’d dig their graves myself and throw each and every fucker who looked at you wrong into one. What I done tonight……I’d do it again and again and again if it meant you’d be safe” 

“But….” you couldn’t come up with any words in answer, but Tommy shushed you with a soft noise as he tucked a damp strand of hair behind your ear. He looked at you for a second, and it seemed that his eyes got lighter in that moment and his body heaved with a heavy sigh as he looked at you.

It was in that instant that he was so overcome with declaration that he couldn’t stop the next words that left his mouth, and once spoken they hung within the room like electricity. 

“I love you” 

Frozen and speechless you stood there, your eyes still being locked on Tommy’s and his rough and warm hands remained on your face. You just stared at him dumbly, watching how the amber flames of the open fire flickered onto his ivory skin and how his plump lips parted slightly to let raggedy breaths escape. Time didn’t seem to exist in this universe. You could have been standing there gazing at each other for ten minutes or ten hours. It was hard to tell when no one was speaking or moving. 

You’d wanted him to say those words since you were twelve years old, and now that he’d said them your mind was working overtime trying to convince you it was a figment of your imagination. 

“No, you don’t” you shook your head, wriggling to turn away from him “you’re in shock or something” 

You could feel him stand behind you, you could hear his rapid breaths mixing with the noise of the crackling fire. But you were certain that the loudest noise in the room was your thumping heartbeat. 

“Yes, I do” he answered you softly, placing his two hands on your shoulders and turning you around to look at him yet again “I’ve loved you since I was a boy, and I love you still. That’s why I’d kill a man for touching you. It’s why I’d burn this whole fucking city to the ground. It’s why I’ve always been so protective of you, because I’ve always loved you” 

“Always?” you whispered to him, your trembling hands coming to rest on his chest. He captured your shaking ones in his warm and rough hands, and you sighed contently as he pressed a kiss to the back of them. 

“Always” Tommy answered with an honesty that alarmed you, but then a flicker of something that looked suspiciously like doubt lit up his eyes “do you love me too?” 

“Oh, Tommy” you almost cried “I love you so much. So much” 

Your answer was the only prompt he needed to place his lips on yours, and as soon as he did you felt that you were going to wake up from this dream at any second. But after minutes of blissfully kissing, with his hands in your hair and your arms around his neck, reality didn’t seem to want to interrupt. You could still feel his lips and tongue mingling with yours, and you knew that no matter how hard your cynical mind was trying to convince you none of this was real it really was happening. 

Nothing else mattered in that moment. Your ordeal with William was almost vanishing from your mind- the soft way Tommy’s fingers threaded through your hair replacing the memory. The worry of the Shelby boys being put behind bars for your sake disappeared with every brush of his lips on yours. He held you like that and kissed you and whispered I love you against your lips for what felt like an eternity. 

Nothing else mattered. Just Tommy. Nothing else. You loved him, and he loved you and everything else in the world was secondary to that. You remained in his arms for hours that night, being loved and held, all the while being completely oblivious to the fact that deep in the shadows of Birmingham, high on a hill, a fresh grave was being dug. 

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

We Do This to Live Ch. 3

Chapter Three

Summary: On Earth-198742, there are no heroes. There’s humans. There’s mutants. There are even some that fall somewhere between. But when Boliver Trask manages to get the Sentinel program signed, it’s up to a thief and her brilliant sister to find those that still believe in something more - something good. And maybe, along the way, they’ll get the chance to save mutant kind.

Pairings: Rogue x Remy, Marie x Shuri (eventually), Geneva x Bucky (eventually)

Word Count: 2782 words

Warnings: Cussing, fighting, mentions of blood

Masterlist to OCs - Masterlist to Other Works

Previous Chapter

--

Two Hours Ago

Highschool parties weren’t exactly what the TV shows and movies portrayed. But that being said – kids from New Orleans always had a flair for parties and this was no different. Speakers had been strapped to the trees, blaring music. Lights were tangled in the trees and Spanish moss, adding a glow where the small fire couldn’t quite reach. Most of the kids had snuck random alcohol from their parents’ houses. Not unexpected – it was a bunch of kids whose parents no doubt conceived them on Bourbon street. Remy and Rogue often made the joke that their behavior was “in their blood”.

Now, Geneva wasn’t sure what she expected when she came here, but so far? She was having fun. For once, she didn’t feel like the sick kid. She wasn’t a thief’s daughter or anything like that. Here, she could just be Gen.

And she liked that.

She poured herself some whiskey from the stash, enjoying the burn it sent down her throat. Some of the kids were already buzzed, more so tipsy and borderline drunk, but she hadn’t felt anything yet. Just a little warm. Walking past the dry-humping buffoons, she looked back at the water. It glowed a pale white from the moon and pretty red orange from their company, calm even though there were gators sleeping just beneath.

“Mon pere says it ain’t gonna be too long ‘fore they roundin’ ‘em all up.”

Geneva grimaced at that thick accent, her ears recognizing the voice faster than her brain could recall the name. Oliver Boudreaux. Julien’s bastard kid. He and a couple other kids had grabbed some chairs. She recognized the bottle at his feet, knowing very well that its contents were most likely moonshine.

“Y’really t’ink so? C’mon, they ain’t all bad.”

“We got our in diable blanc livin’ right under our noses, ‘member,” Oliver asked. Geneva scowled. Having braced against a tree, her hand dug into the bark.

“Oli, stop,” one of the girls said. Though he had remained oblivious, she’d seen Geneva listening to their conversation. Her eyes were fixated on the water, but there was no doubt the girl was paying attention.

But Oliver didn’t care. He waved her off, telling one of the others, “Mon pere says him ‘n’ that vipere venimeuse ain’t gonna be ‘round too long.”

“Oliver.” Geneva finally speaking up was enough to silence the giggles that had erupted from his friends. He looked over his shoulder, those eyes of his as bright and cold as his dad’s. She smiled sweetly, stepping over a massive tree root as she told him, “Shut up.”

Oliver scowled, knowing just as much about Geneva as she did about him. That’s what it meant to have family in the Guilds. You were known. “Learn y’place, fillette.” His disgust flipped, twisting into a satisfied smile as the others snickered. He raised his glass.

“Could tell y’the same t’ing,” Geneva snapped as the moonshine met thin lips. “That’s mon famille y’talkin’ ‘bout, Couyon.”

Oliver tensed. He and Julien always had the same triggers. The same weaknesses.

They hated being called a fool.

Oliver stood up. His foot knocked over the bottle. Moonshine soaked his shoe and the ground, but he didn’t care. He had a point to make. Lanky in build, but towering over Geneva, he stalked towards her until she was pinned between him and the tree.

“Oli! Quit it!” One of the girls stood, noticing how Geneva refused to back down. Still, they didn’t want the party ruined over Guild drama.

“Non, the kid wants t’act like she all high and mighty,” Oliver spat, never looking away from her. She straightened; shoulders set. Smirking, he looked her up and down. From head to toe, lingering in spots that made her skin crawl. “This’s y’first party, fillette. Might wanna pick and choose y’battles. Dieu knows y’bout as weak as de rest o’them t’ieves.”

She watched him take a step back, hating that once again satisfaction glimmered in his eyes. Geneva knew she shouldn’t egg him on. Her parents always told her to never start fights. They told her to finish them, sure. But never, ever start.

Oliver looked over his shoulder, amused by her silence and grinning at his friends. “Cat got y’tongue, fillete?” He turned back to Geneva, reeking of alcohol. Leaning into her ear, he whispered, “Can’t wait ‘till y’mutie parents are rottin’ in cells. It’s what they deserve.”

Well, maybe they could forgive her this one time.

It was instinct, what happened next. She rammed her knee into his stomach. A smirk appeared when he grunted, stumbling back. But it wasn’t satisfying enough. He called her dad the devil. Her mother? A poisonous viper.

It wasn’t enough.

Her fist curled, held in the way her dad always showed her how. One hit to his jaw. He spat out blood.

It still wasn’t enough.

But Oliver was ready now.

He caught her second punch, shoving her into the tree. The bark scraped against her back as the kids scurried to their feet, running off to get help. Teenagers kicked branches in and out, ignoring how some caught fire.

How embers caught leaves…caught moss…and spread.

“Y’ pathetic,” he snapped. His hand flew, a blur in the dark. It snapped against her cheek. Tasting blood, Geneva knew he split her lip. But she didn’t care what she tasted. She cared about how it felt.

A rush.

That was what it felt like.

“Learn y’place now,” he snarled at her.

Her red hair, a curtain between the two of them, hid the key detail he needed in this moment. She looked up. The flecks of gold everyone recognized were no longer small. No longer glimmering and faint. They moved. Spun like liquid and glowed in the darkness.

The string lights snapped, each bulb popping one by one as electricity glimmered under her cheekbones, along her skin.

She looked radiant.

And Oliver looked afraid.

His words were a faint murmur, weak and stuttering as he spoke, “Le fille du diable.”

Electricity flickered out of her skin. It danced along her cheek, as if happy to finally be a part of her world. Each strand and glimmer traveled down her body, cording itself around her arm as she stepped towards him. He stumbled back, finally remembering who exactly her parents were.

“’M gonna make y’eat those words.”

Her fist, glowing brilliantly, collided with his cheek.

And a brilliant light lit up the bayou.

----

Remy pulled up to the scene, making sure to keep his distance from people too nosey to mind their own business. Since the news made the announcement, there were more people. More cars. He tensed, fingers curling around the wheel when he recognized one logo on two black vans.

SHIELD.

Getting out of the car, he made his way to the bayou. No one was paying attention to the thief in the shadows. Everyone had eyes on the news crew, the men in black and blue, and someone else. Remy froze. He recognized him. The man with sandy blonde speaking to one of the officers. Alexander Pierce.

Remy really needed to find Geneva.

-

Devil eyes glowing in the darkness, Remy paused on the outskirts of the party and watched as firefighters assessed the damage. There was so much. He saw the remains of the fire pit and breathed a sigh of relief. At least there was little chance that she was the one who started it. Maybe they just hadn’t found her yet.

He stuck close to the shadows, noticing a couple more kids getting rounded up. They were being questioned by men in suits. Nowadays, there were always men in suits. Remy grimaced. Still, he saw no sign of his daughter.

Where was she?

Remy kept walking, light on his feet and careful not to step on any shattered glass. The last thing he needed was attention brought his way. He passed the speakers and lights, brow furrowing when he saw the bulbs were…gone.

“Gen,” he whispered, his voice so low that it blended with the wind. Remy wanted to scream. Every minute that passed sent a rush of terror through him. What if they found her? What if SHIELD was already prepping to send her to some prison? He gulped. Or the Raft…

The idea of his girl in one of those cages, a collar around her neck, and no chance of seeing family again…

Tears brimmed his eyes.

“C’mon, petite luciole,” he muttered, wincing when he heard a clang. Remy looked down. His metal boot had kicked a bottle. Great. They’d been drinking. Picking up the glass bottle, he brought it to his nose and grimaced. Moonshine. What idiot chose to drink this?

Tossing the bottle towards the water, he expected a splash. What he got was a whimper.

Remy’s head spun. His eyes flickered to the trees, noticing the branches had splintered. Cracked. Fallen. Looking to the water, Remy caught sight of a leg. A body under those branches, a part of it in the water. “Geneva,” he murmured. It was a miracle she hadn’t been attacked by a gator in the middle of all of this. He pushed the branches aside, noticing the scratches they left behind. “Geneva, bebe, c’mon. Say somet’in’.”

He ignored the voices behind him, already well aware that he had to move fast. Another whimper passed her lips as he set a branch aside. With no hesitation, he reached for her, fingers brushing her skin.

A jolt ran through him. He hissed, jerking his hand back. And that was when it hit him. “Oh…Petite…” he whispered, now noticing the glimmers and streaks of gold passing under her skin.

She was a mutant.

--

…Beep…Beep…Beep…

Geneva groaned softly, recognizing that sound. A heart monitor. A hand securely held onto her left, fingers intertwined and holding tight. She slowly opened her eyes, relief washing over her when she saw Rogue asleep at her side. “Mama?”

Rogue opened her eyes, the rough sound of Geneva’s voice stirring her. Her shoulders relaxed, relief easing the tension away as she beamed at her daughter. “You’re alright,” she breathed. A statement more so for herself than her daughter, but neither admitted that.

She moved to sit up, already knowing the drill. Her hand met the sheets, but she wasn’t greeted by a warmth or softness. She felt pain. Geneva cried out, jerking her arm and cradling it to her chest. She hadn’t even realized her hand and arm were bandaged up. Looking from her injury to her mother, she asked, “What happened?”

Her mother faltered, gloved hand lightly tracing hers. How could she explain? “Sweetheart,” she murmured, squeezing again. “Somethin’ happened at the party.”

Memories flashed behind her eyes. The party. Oliver. The fight. Geneva’s jaw dropped, realization dawning on her. “I’m a…”

Worry flitted over Rogue’s eyes as she watched Geneva. She knew being a mutant was hard, now more so than ever.

But what she hadn’t expected was the grin that split Geneva’s face.

“So I’m really a mutant?”

“Oui, y’are.” The two looked up, smiling when they saw Remy standing in the doorway. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a couple days. His eyes were red, hair mussed, and he needed a shave. But seeing Geneva awake and happy? That was enough to make him feel a million times lighter. “Y’really okay wit’ this?”

To her, it was simple. Her parents were mutants. She had to be a mutant. It was just a matter of when for her. Not if. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Told ya,” Marie spoke up, poking her head around Remy. She ran past him, grabbing the spare chair and scooting it to Geneva’s side. “Now, we have a lot t’figure out.”

Geneva groaned, collapsing against her pillows as Rogue stood. They hadn’t taken her to the hospital. The private physician didn’t think it was necessary. If anything, he was relieved to finally have a reason for the fevers that truly made sense. She came to Remy’s side as Marie plopped a stack of research on her lap, squeezing his arm. “Maybe we should let them process this together, Sugah,” Rogue whispered against his shoulder. It was an excuse really, but Rogue wanted him to rest. Truly rest because he needed it.

“Yeah,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “Let’s…” He smiled tiredly. “Let’s go take a nap.”

Geneva noticed them leave, but Marie was far too wrapped up in her research. Her actions and buzzing energy made Geneva feel…alive? More awake? She wasn’t sure. But even now, she felt far more aware of everything than she had ever been before.

Shaking her head, she looked at the papers in hand. “What’s all this?”

“Everyt’in’ I could find on mutants right now.”

Geneva’s gaze shifted to Marie. Did she really – “Marie, how long’ve I been asleep?”

She shrugged, as if stating the weather when she admitted, “Nine days, twelve hours, t’irty-two minutes, and…” Marie checked her watch. “Eh, I t’ink we can ignore the seconds.”

Geneva’s stomach twisted in knots. Maybe that was why she felt so rested now. But still, that had been a long time. Shouldn’t she be tired from resting too much? Combing her fingers through her hair, Geneva forced herself out of her thoughts and back at the ramblings Marie spewed out so easily.

Jeez, the girl was smart.

“—And no one’s heard from that Tony guy since.” She flipped the page. “Oh! Just last week some guy named Charles Xavier was arrested! Apparently, he was helpin’ mutants up in N’York. Teachin’ them ‘ow t’control their powers and all that. But that’s not even the crazy part.” Marie combed her fingers through her hair, tugging it into a ponytail before turning a page and tapping on the photos there. “He had a whole team o’them actin’ like masked vigilantes. Called themselves the X-men.” She waved it off. “All arrested or disbanded now.”

Geneva ran her uninjured hand over her neck, feeling the tension rise underneath her skin. More organizations. More names. The Avengers – vigilantes and criminals after the Accords passed. Steve Rogers – given a lethal injection because he was a “man out of time” fighting for a cause that no longer existed. Because he was fighting against the government. Bruce Banner – sent to some middle-of-nowhere place called Wakanda. Natasha Romanoff – the Raft.

Logan Howlett…Orroro Munroe…The Brotherhood…James Barnes…T’Challa…Morlocks…

Arrested.

Disbanded.

Arrested.

Killed.

Banished.

Arrested.

“Marie!” Panic had settled in her voice, coiled underneath her skin. A fluorescent shattered above them. Geneva’s chest rose and fell with every quick breath she took.  

Marie winced, knowing she had taken it too far. “Je suis desole, I just…” She shrugged, offering a small smile. “Gen, y’got a chance t’really do somet’in’ good here. Somet’in’ more than the Guilds could ever hope t’be.”

Geneva stared at the sprawled-out papers. It was so much information. Things that Marie found so interesting. Things that gave Marie hope.

And Geneva already felt like she was drowning.

“I know,” Geneva murmured, offering a small smile. It wasn’t easy to make her nervous. She was the fun one. Always smiling. Always easy going.

But everything had changed so quickly.

“I t’ink I just…need t’rest.”

Marie nodded, already gathering up the papers. She would let Geneva read them on her own time. As Geneva watched her pack up, she knew she didn’t need rest. She needed the opposite of it. She felt as if her whole body was on fire, itching and tingling to do something.

She watched Marie leave, eyes fixated on the door shutting. When she was finally alone, she collapsed against the pillows and shifted her gaze to the ceiling. She knew Marie wanted her to be a hero. Something that wasn’t allowed to exist since 1998.

But right now, for the time being at least, Geneva had to be the only thing that could keep her safe.

“Y’look tired.”

Geneva yelped, sitting up and wincing when the jerk of her movements hurt her arm. She’d definitely have to be more careful. Shifting her attention from her arm to her newest guest, she smiled slightly when she saw her grandfather.

“’Ello.”

He came to sit next to her, noticeably careful not to touch her or the bed. While Marie and her parents didn’t mind the risk of injury, she knew he did. Jean Luc was careful. Calculated. It came with being the Guild Master.

“Pépé,” she asked, tugging at the bandage on her arm.

“Hm?”

Geneva took a slow breath. She knew her parents wouldn’t like this. She knew Marie wouldn’t either. But it was what she needed. “I…I wanna join the Guild.”

--

Permanent Taglist:

@butcherofblackwater​

[kingsuckjin]

The Enigma of Bunny | Pt.4

Pairing: Jungkook, Taehyung, Yoongi, Jin x reader ft. Namjoon and Hobi

Genre: angst, fluff, mystery (later: horror) smut (soon) yandere

Warnings: (I’m so sorry Tae stans) hints and talk of noncon/dubcon, hints of sex, self hatred.

Synopsis: You find a very sick young man in an alley and out of the bottomless barrel of kindness that is your heart, you decide take him home. Only then do you realize this stranger doesn’t speak, but that’s not the only strange thing about him by far. Who is he? Where did he come from? What happened to him? And why can’t he remember anything or even speak?

Words: 3.6k+

Tag list: If you want to be added to the tag list just let me know @rikkafunthepureone @illnevertrustmyselfagain @sam-moss @minyoongi-infiresme @appreciatethefoolishness @sugajinny @loserjeonjk @savanna-1 @bulletproof-points

prev // next

——

“I need you to come in NOW. We need to talk about your obvious slacking.”

That message from your boss terrified you. It was true you were slacking at getting work done but you were busy helping Jungkook. Of course your dictator boss, Kim Taehyung, wouldn’t understand that, he only cared about himself, his company, and which Gucci suit he would wear that day. You were surprised he was letting you work from home at all but you did work more diligently at home and more hours of course and that made him money.

You had no idea what to do with Jungkook as you threw on your office best, a pencil skirt, heels and a nice dress shirt.

You dialed Yoongi’s number as you got dressed and you thanked god as he answered but he sounded tired. you spewed apologies and explained that you needed his help again asking him to come over and watch Jungkook for you. You knew if you had to leave him it would have to be here at the house with someone he liked and that’s what you told him.

Jungkook looked at your attire and his eyes followed you across the room  as you walked over to him and sat down next to him.

“Jungkook, I have to leave for a bit but-”

“Leave?!” He interrupted suddenly panicked.

“Yes, but not too long. Yoongi will be here with you.”

“I don’t come?” He asked.

“I’m sorry, you can’t.”

“Why?” It was his newest favorite word that you had heard countless times over the past few days.

“Because I have to go to work today.”

“Work? Why?”

“My boss probably wants to yell at me”

“Yell?! Yell at noona?! No! Did noona do bad?” He was now also concerned along with flipping his shit over you needing to leave.

“Yeah, kind of.”

“No! No yell at noona!” You had noticed when he got upset his speech got worse.

“Its okay.” You laid your hand on his larger, warm one for reassurance and it seemed to do the trick in calming him a few notches. “It won’t be too bad. I’ll be back before you know it. Be brave for me and be good while I’m gone, okay? Don’t get upset. I’ll be back.”

He had a pained look on his face but he nodded apprehensively but in understanding just as there was a knock at the door.

You threw open the door and Yoongi blinked at you before glancing at what you were wearing.

“Shit.” You swear he said.

“What?” You weren’t sure why he had said that, but you were sure he had.

“I- uh- meant to bring snacks… for Jungkook.” He said suddenly not wanting to look directly at you, choosing to look past you to Jungkook instead.

“Oh its fine, we have plenty, he eats so much so I’ve stocked up.” You said as you let him in.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back but-”

“Its fine.” He shrugged.

“Jungkook. I’ll be back. Please be good. If you are we can get you more art supplies, alright.” You promised him a reward in hopes he would keep a level head at least for that.

“Okay Noona.” He agreed but didn’t seem exactly alright with it. You had no choice but to grab your bag and go.

Before you knew it you were sitting in a chair in your boss’ office just across his desk from him.

Kim Taehyung radiated power in his well fitted dress pants and crisp white dress shirt. Although you couldn’t see his shoes, you knew they were Gucci and probably cost more than your rent. He said nothing for a moment as he leaned back in his chair with his dark hair perfectly glossy and parted. A dark eyebrow lifted at you. You felt incredibly intimidated by his silence and something told you that that was what he wanted.

When he simply just said nothing you decided to try to explain yourself.

“I-I-I’m so sorry I’ve been taking care of someone lately and-”

“I don’t care.” His reply was simple but sharp.

“I’m sorry sir.”

“I still don’t care.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of his very fancy office chair.

“What I care about is progress, because progress is money, and money is happiness despite what people say. You haven’t been making progress this week. I’m going to be honest, normally you impress me with how much you get done especially at home, that’s why I let you work from home, although, I do miss your pretty face wondering around the office.”

You were stunned by his boldness, but you’d be lying to say you didn’t expect it from him.

“As I said though, money is happiness because there’s not a problem it can’t solve. Car broken down? Buy a new one. Loved one need taken care of? Pay someone to do it. Depressed? Pay for a top notch therapist. Need love? Buy it. Now, it seems like you have a problem of some kind preventing me from making more money, and I’m not happy if I’m not making money. I guess that means if you’re not happy then neither am I… so how much would it take to add on to your pay every week for you to make us both happy?” He leaned in to his desk, bringing himself menacingly closer.

“What?” You replied not expecting this meeting to go this way at all.

“Shall we talk it over during a very nice dinner at six tonight?”

“I- I-”

“Alright. Still live at the same address in your employee information you listed?”

“Y-yes?”

“Good. I’ll pick you up at five forty. You may go.”

“I- uhh- thank you sir.” You sputtered as you stood but he began fiddling with papers and ignoring you like you weren’t even in the room anymore.

You walked home stunned and wondering what the heck just happened.

“Noona!” Jungkook was happy to see you when you walked back into your apartment to see him watching tv with Yoongi.

“How was he?” You immediately asked.

“Fine, a little on edge and kept asking if you were coming back yet, almost had a meltdown, but it was fine. It’s good for him to be away from you sometimes. So, are you in trouble? He said you were going to het yelled at.”

“Uhh no actually? I… I got a raise I think.” You still weren’t even completely sure what had happened in there.

“For what?” Yoongi seemed just as baffled as you

“For slacking off? I’m not really sure. The meeting was strange. I have to discuss the raise with him tonight at dinner, apparently hes coming to get me at five forty tonight and I have no say so in it.”

“Huh.” Yoongi said “listen, he might be your boss but don’t let him make you do things you don’t want to or aren’t comfortable with.”

“I’m comfortable with going, it’s for more money so-”

“That’s… not what I mean.”

“What do you mean then?” You clearly didn’t get it.

“Go to dinner, it’s fine just… I don’t know… just don’t let him make you uncomfortable or anything. I just- I know how you are now that I know you and… never mind, you’re smart.”

You blinked at him wondering if he would elaborate further, but he didn’t.

“Okay.” You replied “so you’ll watch him tonight?”

“Of course I will. We’re working on his speaking, right Jungkook?” Yoongi looked him and Jungkook nodded.

“Thank you so much Yoongi.” You felt so grateful for all his help that you couldn’t stop yourself from throwing your arms around him and locking him a tight hug.

He seemed a little stunned but he did bring his hands up to finally hug you back for a moment before you released him.

“You’re welcome.” He muttered “just make sure he knows it’s not a date, you know… unless…”

“No, no. It’s not going to be a date.” You said quickly with a laugh at the thought of dating that power hungry buffoon.

“Alright well I’ll see you both later tonight then.” With that Yoongi left.

“Noona, okay? Jungkook asked the moment you had closed the door.

“Of course.” You answered before sitting down beside him and taking a peek at what he was drawing.

You were shocked to see it was you. 

Every detail of your face was there on the paper but some how it looked so much better than you but you weren’t sure how.

Your mouth fell open and you looked at him.

He seemed kind of embarrassed as he tried to flip to a new page but you stopped him.

“That- that’s me!” You stated in awe.

“I- uh- I’m sorry.” He stuttered over his words as his face was going a bit red.

“No! Its amazing. Did you just draw my face from memory?” You were in utter awe but you were so flattered he would take the time to draw you and especially since he thought you looked like that

“Yes?”

“Its so good!” You smiled at him as you looked back down at the paper, scooting closer to him for a better look.

“You’re not…?” It seemed he couldn’t remember the word, but you did.

“I’m not upset, I’m delighted. You have so much talent. We have to get you more art supplies.” You reached up and patted his cheek tenderly.

“I- I missed you so… so I made you.” He explained looking like he was still hoping you weren’t mad and a little nervous.

“That’s sweet.” You grinned. You were glad he had found a way to cope with your absence in a creative way.

“You want? Not done… but you have?” He pointed to the page and offered it to you.

“You finish it first.” You urged and he nodded.

“So… so you leave again later?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, but Yoongi will be with you again if that’s alright. You like Yoongi, right?”

He nodded.

“But… not Jimin.”

You tilted your head at him. You had of course noticed this but you were now curious as to why.

“Why don’t you like Jimin?”

“Jimin is… he… looks…” he thought hard until let out a grunt of frustration at not being able to find the right words and you could tell this topic really bothered him.

“Hey, its okay.” You laid your hand on his arm as he brooded in frustration.

“Don’t like Jimin.” He muttered.

“That’s okay, I’m sure you have your reasons or you just don’t know him well enough yet. Either way, it’s okay.” You assured him before dropping it so he didn’t get anymore upset.

He relaxed as you made him some food and watched tv together for a while, he even laid his head on your shoulder for a while too and you let his soft deep colored hair tickle at your cheek as he did.

——

Your boss was right outside your apartment complex waiting for you at five forty on the dot.

Of course he drove a beautiful brand new sports car and of course he wore expensive looking clothes that were just a step more casual than his office attire. You wore a nice black dress that of course wasn’t Gucci.

The both of you didn’t really talk on the way there, you didn’t really know what to say to him anyway. The restaurant he took you to was as high class as you were expecting from him. It was all too much for your liking, but you were here for that raise not for the nice restaurant or your bosses company which was a good thing because he barely acknowledged your existence.

“So,” when he did finally speak he startled you with that deep, intimidating voice of his. Actually now that you thought about it, everything about him kind of reminded you of a super villain in real life form from his money to his posture to his presence.

He took a drink of wine and peered over the glass at you. “What would you do with a fifty percent raise?”

“I would…” as soon as you began to think about the hypothetical question, he spoke again.

“I was expecting you to be surprised and ecstatic, not tell me what you’d actually do with it.”

Of course.

Of course he actually meant it.

“Wait. You really plan on giving me a fifty percent raise? Why? I don’t deserve that- that’s- that’s a lot.” You were actually surprised.

“Depends.” He stared off towards the direction of the waiter.

“On?” you questioned.

“Would you like to keep me company for a few hours?” His question threw you off for a moment and confused you, you felt like he was speaking in riddles.

“But I just did, didn’t I?”

“Not this kind, sweetheart. Tell you what, you come with me to my house and we’ll see what comes of it and we’ll see whether you get your raise or not.” His smirk made you feel like the room had just gotten colder. It dissolved as he got the waitresses attention and asked for the check.

You got it.

Once it clicked in your brain, you were frozen.

You felt uncomfortable and Yoongi had told you not to let him make you uncomfortable, but what were you supposed to do?

Well, you could say no and leave.

“You could always say no.” He offered seeing you in shock. “But I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“Why?” You asked but you were afraid to know.

“Because you could be making more than any other person on the marketing team… maybe more than on anyone on any marketing team in the city. I could make you head of marketing, your job would require less work and you’d be getting paid so much you won’t know what to do with it. Or…” he stared you down now “you could not have a job. I could fire you right now for any reason I wanted, you could never work in marketing again once I put your name out there along with all of your inadequacies. Hope you didn’t go to school too long for it.”

You felt sick.

You knew he could do it. You knew he had the power to.

He was one of the highest earning men in the city and here he was threatening to ruin your career.

It made your skin crawl.

Did you need the money, no, but you did need a job and you had worked yourself to death at university to be what you are now. You had invested the last couple of years in Kim Taehyung’s company.

You swallowed down your nervousness and everything in your body telling you to just get out of there, that it didn’t matter… but it did matter.

“H- how many times?”

“Just once.” He said “but lets hope your fucking isn’t as terrible as your conversational skills.”

At least he wasn’t terrible looking, but the crawling feeling your gut paid that no mind anyway.

—–

You stopped right before your apartment door for a moment as you tried to compose yourself before unlocking it and going in as quietly as you could. You thought maybe you could just sneak into your own apartment.

You were surprised to see Jungkook still awake with Yoongi though.

“Hey guys. Thanks for keeping him company, Yoongi.” You tried to get out before Jungkook jumped up to hug you and squeeze you to death.

You hoped that he wouldn’t say anything about how late it was.

“He wouldn’t go to sleep until you-” Yoongi was cut off by Jungkook poking your neck and examining it. You clapped your hand over it and Yoongi’s eyes narrowed

“Can we talk?” Yoongi’s friendly tone had completely changed.

“Um… uh… no. I’m pretty tired.” You lied.

“Is there something else wrong?” You already knew he knew, he probably did upon you walking in so late.

“Umm…” You didn’t know what to say, you were just standing there holding everything in. Right now, you just needed him out, you needed his judging eyes off of you.

Yoongi suddenly took you by the arm and told Jungkook to stay in here while he dragged you off into the kitchen.

“Are you alright?” Was the first thing he asked.

“I- uh, yeah.” You did your best to sound casual.

“Why did you do it?” Was his next question.

“Do what?”

“I see the mark on your neck, I know, okay? I told you not to let him make you feel-”

“It’s fine, it’s fine okay?!” You were beginning to feel irritated because talking about it only made your skin crawl more.

“It’s not.” He crossed his arms and stayed calm with you.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Your reply was quick.

“Which is a huge red flag! What did he threaten you with? I know you’re not like that.”

“You don’t! You don’t know what I’m actually like okay?!” You whisper yelled at him but he just rolled his feline like eyes.

“You can’t be serious. I know you wouldn’t fuck your boss! It’s obvious you wouldn’t! You always want to do the right thing and-”

“Shut up Yoongi! You still don’t know me and I said I didn’t want to talk about it! Just leave, okay?!” How many times did you have to tell him? You just didn’t want to talk about it and you wanted him to leave it at that.

“Whatever.” He replied and stormed off out of the kitchen.

You reentered the lounge just in time to see him whispering something to Jungkook and he gave Yoongi a nod in return.

“I said leave, Yoongi.” You stood  firm and he did as you asked this time.

“Noona?” Jungkook said after Yoongi slammed the door behind him and you locked it.

“I’m going to have a shower.” You said angrily, you couldn’t take any more questions or judgement. Would Jungkook judge you though? Could he?

You scrubbed your skin red and raw attempting to get the scent of your boss’s expensive cologne off your skin, but it was burned into your brain, you couldn’t stop smelling it and it disgusted you further.

It wasn’t that he was bad in bed or even cruel or anything like that, you just hated yourself for sleeping with your boss when you didn’t want to, you hated that he had made you do it, that you had felt so pressured to give your body to him. Now your body didn’t feel like your own.

You wordlessly headed to bed and the moment you laid down you had to work harder to fight off the tears.

You continued to fight it more and more but you just couldn’t sleep.

And then you couldn’t fight the tears or disgust with yourself any more and began sobbing into your pillow.

“Noona?” There were soft knocks at your bedroom door.

“Noona okay?”

“I’m fine Bunny.” You called back just to get him to stop worrying, but you clearly weren’t fine and it was obvious in your voice and there was no hiding it.

Your door squeaked open.

“Not fine.” Jungkook whispered as you sniffled and tried to get yourself to stop crying. “Yoongi said noona not fine, take care of noona.”

“I’m fine, Jungkook.” You sniffled again as tears continued to flow down your eyes relentlessly.

“How do I take care noona? Noona take care of Bunny and… I don’t know how to care noona.” His brows knitted together and you read the desperation and sympathy on his face.

You began to cry again and felt the side of your bed sink in.

“Jungkook, just-”

He was lifting you up to just look at you. He seemed confused like he had never seen a person cry before, surely he had in his dramas, right? Or maybe he was just lost as to what to do for you.

His eyes followed a tear rolling down your cheek and he lifed a sleeved hand and wiped at your wet face.

“Cry. Sad? Why is noona sad? Work yell?”

That’s it, he didn’t understand why you were sad, and you weren’t about to tell the poor sweet soul.

“No, no.” You shook your head.

“Then why?”

His voice was quiet and as smooth as always like a melody, only this time it held a tinge of sadness.

“I- I can’t really explain.”

“That’s okay, it’s alright.” He told you what you remembered telling him a few times before, he was reassuring you.

“I know, Bunny.” You sniffled once more.

“I don’t like noona sad. It… it…” he put a hand on his heart and squeezed it into a fist in a swift and powerful motion. You realized what he was trying to tell you.

Heart crushing.

He thought it was heart crushing that you were sad.

You looked into his big, pretty brown eyes and you began to cry again and you didn’t know why. Just looking at him made the sadness, the guilt even heavier.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest, he laid back taking you with him until you were laying directly on top of him, head on his chest with his arms wrapped around you. You willingly cried on him. It was an intimate position, it probably would’ve given you a heart attack had he done this at any other time, but you didn’t concentrate on that right now. It didn’t feel strange or foreign at all to you, it felt warm and comforting and safe. You thought about how it was the exact opposite with you boss not long ago. Jungkook helped to take the feelings away, to cancel them out with his warm breath on the top of your head and arms holding you.

“It’s okay, it’s okay noona. No more sad. It’s okay.” He whispered quietly to you. “Noona is good person, noona is kind, noona cares. It’s okay.”

Your brain flip-flopped at his reassurances, Maybe he did know.

He just kept whispering kind things to you, anything and everything he could say until your sobs quieted.

[sonicringbond]

Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Scene 31

New year new cour!

Hopefully the start doesn’t feel too slow. I have to establish the plot a bit as and current state of the world. and the survey I had going while writing this scene was last trending towards having more plot over anything else. So i have quite a bit that I hope will wet your appetite in...

    ~Things had changed quite a bit since I met back up with Sonic. I couldn’t have been happier to find Sonic out of all my friends though, because with Sonic I just know we’ll find all our friends and continue our Journey home. At least I hope so.

    ~Like I said, the world really changed a lot. That red lightning bolt-like crack in the sky which is like a window to another world is visible all the time. For all the mountain ranges, prairies, deserts, islands, and towns and cities I’ve run through with Sonic, it never goes away, just like that horrible little planet which is always watching me. I can hardly sleep at all because of it. It makes my skin crawl, and something about it even affects my cards. I haven’t been able to read a fortune or ask for advice for some time now.

    ~And I could use it too.

    ~Sonic was right in that I didn’t understand. The damage done by those mean old pirates was a lot worse than I imagined. And it was easy enough to learn about it as more and more people took up the life of traveling sightseers after the crack appeared in the sky and that dreadful planet stopped going away at night. Everyone is afraid the world is ending and getting really funny about it. Some people have started traveling, others have given themselves even more to their work, and then there are those affected by the pirates in the worst possible way.

    ~They hurt a lot of people, but this was even worse. They also inspired a lot of other people to become sky pirates and hurt people too. It was the worst possible outcome, even with the old owl beat. At least I think he is. Despite all the stories of all the new pirates flying through the skies on airships they likely stole from the Engineers, I haven’t heard one about that mean old owl who we couldn’t keep that last Red Star Ring From. But I like to think we beat him. Because if we didn’t, I can’t imagine what he is up to.~

    “Nothing! To think I thought the fool fox the greatest enemy of the Battle Kukku Armada. But no, it’s little wonder why that clown Eggman always challenged him. Allowing him to live Is certain to assure complete and utter failure!”

    Tossing his feathered hands up in defeat, Doctor Fukurokov fell to his knees and looked out at the ruined city he had been wandering for what felt an eternity now. The concrete structures and skyscrapers could never have been built with glass and steel as they were with the typical steam and Ring technology he was used to working with. The city was obviously ancient and from before technology had fallen to the point of early industrialism and steam craft. Yet for all the wonder that could have built such a city, there was nothing left of value and an ever-growing forest had made it its home. Should Doctor Fukurokov not find his way to actual civilization either however…

    “A pitiable state for a creature of the heavens.”

    The voice that addressed Doctor Fukurokov was new to his ears, but he both enjoyed the recognition of his status and hated it.

    “Choose your words wisely, whoever you are,” the old, mad owl warned as he rose to feet. Turning he was greeted to a sight most peculiar. A stone golem fashioned after the long extinct echidnas, painted white and garbed in flowing purple robes adorned with massive gear like decorations. In its right hand he held a staff with half a cog for a head. Held between the two halves a crystal rose spun and glowed purple in contrast to the golem’s glowing blue eyes. “A golem that speaks?”

    “Indeed, elder of the heavens. I was once known as Pir’Oth, a very long time ago. Now I am known simply as Ix the Ring Striker. How the order of the world has fallen. Evident surely in your pitiable state. Bested by meager dirt dwellers as an old friend of mine would say.”

    “I suppose this old friend of yours has business with the leader of the Battle Kukku Armada?” Doctor Fukurokov probed the intentions of the golem, Ix, with a question. He was not prepared for the laughter that met him in answer.

    “If my friend were so readily at hand, neither of us would be in this pathetic state we find ourselves in. No, the one who has business with you is me.”

    Giving his staff a twirl, Ix slammed it into the ground and several cracks tore through it like a spider web. From those cracks, Rings burst forth and with a wave of his staff Ix gathered them to a single point. With a flash they formed into a massive Ring that anyone could easily step through, and then he looked expectantly at Doctor Fukurokov. “What I desire from you is your knowledge and loyalty. With these two things I can assure your return to glory and your rightful place in the heavens.”

    “A bold claim from a man made of stone.”

    “Only this body,” Ix countered,

    “Come, if you desire the return of what is rightfully yours. I can show that this simple vessel is but a small part of what I am.”

    Stepping through the portal, Ix left Doctor Fukurokov to make up his mind. But Ring gates did not persist indefinitely, and that with but a staff, animated stone formed one that could be used by several people and persisted at all was a curiosity he could not resist. Nor was he one to waste an opportunity to leave his would be grave.

    On the other side of the portal however, he found an even greater forest awaited him. One so thick and lush that it was impossible to see the sky or daylight. It was only the glow of Ix’s staff and eyes that illuminated the darkness. Save bioluminescent lifeforms Doctor Fukurokov had no intention to interact with.

    “I don’t see how this is an improvement,” The old owl sneered only to be met with more laughter.

    “No, as an outsider of this abandoned world, I suppose you would not.” Turning and walking away Ix explained.

    “This forest, much like the prairie you must have passed through is a prison for myself. With the Red Star Ring relieved of its power, we can access it once more. And within, find me again.”

    “Your words make no sense golem.”

    “And yet you follow.”

    There was no argument from Doctor Fukurokov. He followed as he had no choice. His willingness was a desire to survive, and the clearing with the dismantled golems of wood that resembled almost comical puppets was a sight he felt defied that. Yet, true to Ix’s words, awaiting them there was Ix again. Though this Ix was made of carved and polished wood painted white with only his robes hiding his nature as a puppet.

    “Then I am not the first to wake.”

    “The second, Pir’Oth,” Ix answered his wooden double. “Only two Red Star Rings of five have been used. But I suspect from the state of the sky that we are fortuitous that you woke at all. We have enemies in this distant future that still know of us.”

    “And the flightling behind you?”

    “A gift for your waking and our steady restoration.”

    “A gift? Doctor Fukurokov balked and moved as though to retreat. But he knew he had no such options as he again watched Ix strike the ground and summon forth Rings. “Preposterous. Doctor Fukurokov is a gift to no one. I am the ruler of the skies and–!”

    “You are no ruler of the skies flightling,” the wood Pir’Oth spoke into Doctor Fukurokov’s ear from behind him. He had never even seen the movement and turned in stiff disbelief. “But I must know the state of the world.”

    Caught between the stone Ix and the wood Pir’Oth, Doctor Fukurokov could do nothing as both threw out a Ring towards him. One pointed with open hand and the other his staff, and caught between the sudden locked in place Rings, Doctor Fukurokov could only let out a shrill scream of terror before falling to the ground. Twitching as he lay helpless, a swirling cloud of golden motes of light settling into him and the two golems.

    There was a long silence though before at last one of the golems spoke, and the stone Ix was astonished. “This knowledge! The world beyond this abandoned husk! Who is this Eggman it houses! His creations…! Never… never have I witnessed such things. I must have this knowledge he possesses!”

    Pulling Doctor Fukurokov back to bis feet, the wood Ix glared into his stupefied eyes with his intensely glowing blue ones. “This Eggman, and this fox who can make use of his technology. Tell me flightling, where are they.”

    “Hehehehehe…Doctor Fukurokov laughed amused. “So, you saw inside my head and don’t even know that much. It would seem I am more useful to you than you thought. But the fool fox is mine. If you want that buffoon Eggman, you’ll have to find a way to the lands I hail from. But I doubt you can pull it off. Whether you leave the fox to me or just seek out a way to Eggman, you’ll have to face him. The scourge of all who desire power.”

    “Who?” Ix demanded to know. “I would know the champion who would challenge my ambitions.”

    “Hehehehehe… It’s so funny you don’t know.”

    “Who, flightling!”

    “Who else? Sonic the Hedgehog…”

Scene 31 · CLEARED And After That, to be continued

-----

And there we have it!

Though I’ll dash any hopes of Eggman appearing soon. He’s getting a lot of mention, but if you noticed, so is Tails. That survey I mentioned above had had tails listed as the go to character for Rosy to go after next, and as he has knowledge about Eggman’s machines and tech, it’s a nice little way to mention Eggman and set up that tails is in likely danger. but that is for another time.

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope to see you next time!

-----

Special Thanks to Cutegirlmayra Story by @JoshTarwater/SonicFanJ Inspiring Song – Lumacie Archipelago: Mystic Woodland – Tsutomu Narita – Granblue Fantasy Original Soundtrack

Fair Use Disclaimer

Sonic the Hedgehog and all affiliated characters and logos are the express property and Copyright© of SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS used without permission under Title 17 U.S.C Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976 in which allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. “Fair use” is use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be considered copyright infringement. The Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey alternate universe (AU) consumer written work of fiction is a non-profit transformative work primarily for personal use and can and will be taken down without warning or prior notice at the request of the copyright holder(s) should it not be recognized under “fair use”.

*Sonic Ring Bond logo created by DEE Art – twitter.com/daryliscute.

Sonic Ring Bond AU and Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey are the creation of Joshua David Tarwater/ynymbus/sonicfanj/@Joshtarwater and is to be, including all contents herein considered for all legal purposes the property of the Sonic the Hedgehog intellectual property (IP) and copyright owners, SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS. All story contributors via prompt, suggestion, written scene, art, and all and every other contribution acknowledge that all contributed material is forfeit for legal purposes to SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS upon official request from SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS.

[beyond-the-mirror]

Drunk uncle Dante explains: How babies are made

The sequel nobody asked for! Drunk uncle Dante is back with another disastrous story for poor innocent baby Nero.

Written purely for laughs and giggles, so it’s not meant to be taken seriously at all. Also, this is merely a parody of a series of videos called ‘Drunk uncle explains’, you can check the original video right here if you want to (It’s in spanish however, but subtitles are available).

Warning: Slight NSFW? I mean this is Dante we are talking about, do you seriously expect him to behave properly and watch his mouth? Obviously not!

……….

Dante was currently sitting on his old worn out leather couch, a warm cup of tea resting between his hands. He gently blew on it to help cool it down before taking a sip, the bitter taste overwhelming his tastebuds and making him contort his face in disgust. He didn’t understand why his brother Vergil insisted so much on him to start drinking more tea instead of beer and whiskey, still he didn’t have the heart to reject the warm cup Vergil had prepared for him previously.

Of course, one shouldn’t expect Dante to behave for once. Eyeing the whiskey bottle on the table next to him, he reached for the bottle and poured a generous amount of alcohol into his tea.

Taking another sip, he smiled in content. ‘Much better’ he muttered to himself, leaning back to enjoy some relaxing time.

That is until a light set of footsteps hurriedly approached him. “Uncle Dante! Uncle Dante!” Little Nero skipped excitedly before sitting on the floor right in front of his uncle.

“What do you want now kid?” Dante asked before taking a sip from his beverage.

“How are babies made?”

Spitting out tea out of sheer shock and surprise, Dante looked at his baby nephew with a bewildered look on his face. Whelp, he definitely wasn’t expecting that one at all.

“Ewww! That was gross uncle Dante!” Nero giggled while looking at the disaster his uncle made on the carpet.

“Whoa kid wait a minute now, why did you come up with that question?”

“Please uncle Dante, I’m curious to know!” Oh no, not the puppy eyes again...

“Alright, alright then kid. Let’s see.” He cleared his throat “How babies are made.”

“Yayyy! Thank you uncle Dante!”

“No need to thank me buddy, after all, I know for sure that you have a reeeally irresponsible father. But luckily you have me, a smart and educated uncle, a man of the world-”

“Silence you sovereign buffoon!” Vergil’s angry voice interrupted from inside a nearby room. “Or should I remind you about the time you failed preschool?”

“C’mon Verge! I’m saying that I’m a guy who reads a lot, books and all that stuff-”

“Porn magazines don’t count as books you scum!”

“I already explained a thousand times, those are artistic nudes goddammit!”

Letting out a frustrated growl at his brother, Dante calmed down before turning once again to Nero who was looking at him expectantly.

“Now, let’s see how babies are made. Once upon a time, there was a little bee. A very handsome and well-endowed bee who had the biggest stinger in the entire world.” Dante smirked to himself, the man obviously picturing himself. 

“Oh really?” Vergil called out once again. “When you were born, our father mistook you for a baby girl!”

“Well if you saw me now, the joke would totally be on you...” Dante muttered under his breath before clearing his throat and continuing with the story. “Anyways. This bee was seeking a pretty flower to hang out with, but because he didn’t have enough cash to get into a strip club, the bee ended up getting into a bar.”

“Wait uncle Dante, what is a strip club?”

“Well let’s say it’s kinda liiike... a luxury flower shop.”

“Really? Can you take me there to get a flower? Pretty please?”

“Ehhh no because emm...” Dante now struggled to find a good excuse to stop Nero from wanting to go to a ‘strip club’, that is until the light bulb in his head finally went on. “The flowers are actually fake! They may look pretty but really they’re made of plastic. But if you insist, once you turn 18 I promise to take you to one. You’re paying tho.”

“Yayy! Thank you uncle Dante!” Little Nero beamed, blissfully ignorant to the truth.

“So! The little bee walked into the bar where he found his flower, and man what a flower she was! Beautiful, gorgeous, with enormous bouncy petals and-” he described as both his hands made grabby gestures above his chest.

“COULD YOU STOP TALKING TO MY SON AS IF HE WERE ONE OF YOUR ACQUAINTANCES?!”

“Whatever, sheesh...” Dante rolled his eyes. Seriously, his brother was no fun at all.

“And then did the little bee give the pretty flower his pollen?”

“Oh not yet, little buddy! First he invited her a few drinks to get to know each other a little better, like a nice glass of honey on... the rocks. And then, the little bee took her to the bathroom.”

Nero’s eyes filled with confusion “The bathroom? Why?”

“Because the flower ehhh...” this story was getting harder to explain for a drunken Dante, the last time his brain had to work like this was Christmas last year. “She needed some water! Yeah, that... except the flower may have misunderstood the intentions of the little bee.” With his head down, he quietly muttered his next words “Damn, I can still feel the slap she gave me.”

“I once dressed as a flower for a school play.” Nero added proudly and Dante couldn’t help but chuckle at the adorable image in his mind. How fondly he remembered that day, to this day he still kept the pictures he took.

“The little bee tried his best to flirt with the other flowers but with no success, that is until a special flower walked into the bar. She was quite the pretty thing, with bright eyes and a personality like no other... truly a beautiful lady.”

“Wait, Lady? The woman who you now owe lots of money and because of that she took your car?”

“No that ain’t true! She only borrowed the car temporarily!”

“And now here you are!” Vergil’s voice rang throughout the room, ready to complain about Dante again with no doubt. “Living in my house like a pathetic parasite!”

“You are still making me pay rent, though?!”

“You owe FOUR months already!”

Dante sighed in defeat. What a rotten luck he had in life.

“Okay, let’s continue with our story. The little bee had no luck finding a flower, but surprisingly, his uglier and way smaller twin brother-” he voiced rather loudly so Vergil could perfectly hear “-actually did get one. He took the flower to his hive where he gave her some pollen; however, the ugly bee couldn’t pull out his teeny tiny stinger on time. And nine months later, a new baby bee was born from the flower: a beautiful white-haired bumblebee named Nero.”

The devil hunter smiled warmly at the boy sitting in front of him, whose arrival to their lives was truly a blessing to the rather odd family they had going on.

The boy giggled cutely, a faint blush on his round cheeks. “Thank you for the story uncle Dante.” The man smiled in return before taking a sip from his spiked tea. For a moment he believed that the little one would now get up and leave as he would normally do after one of his stories. Oh how wrong he was.

“But there’s something I still don’t understand.” Nero questioned “In which part of the story do the sperm, the penis and the vagina come in?”

Dante did another spit take, the carpet once again completely soaked in tea and alcohol. “Wait WHAT?!”

“Contrary to you, my dear brother,” Vergil entered the scene, picking up little Nero and carrying him in his arms. “I do actually make sure to always give my son the best and most complete education possible. Now if you excuse us, it’s time for Nero to go visit his friend Kyrie like I promised him the other day. Say goodbye to your uncle, Nero.” At the mention of his friend’s name, the boy beamed and tightly hugged his dad, thanking him over and over.

“See you later, uncle Dante!” And with those words, the stoic devil hunter turned around and made his way to the door with his son in arms, leaving Dante with a rather flabbergasted expression on his face.