#anyway this was a work song when i was at old navy

[drdemonprince]

Things are gonna change

and not for better

I don't know what it means for me

but it's hopeless, hopeless

[thatlovinfeelin]

Swan Song | Jake Hangman Seresin |

Carole Bradshaw was pregnant when Goose died. Newly pregnant, too early to even know. The pregnancy was hard, not just emotionally but physically. The birth was even harder, but in the end Carole was left with a beautiful baby girl. She had Goose’s eyes from the start, big and brown, just like her big brother Bradley. Her smile was contagious from the very beginning and soon she was growing into a beautiful young woman. 

Y/N was very close with her big brother Bradley. They were nearly inseparable. So when Bradley joined the Navy, it took everything to convince Y/N that she shouldn’t follow in his footsteps. She went to college nearby, and got her degree slowly but surely. And once it was all said and done, and Bradley had a permanent position at Miramar, Y/N joined him there. 

“C’mon! Just take me for one drink!” You begged your older brother, “You never let me meet any of your friends! Even Penny said you should let me come!”

“Penny needs to mind her own business,” Bradley grumbled, throwing on one of your dad’s old Hawaiian shirts. 

“No, Penny definitely needs to butt in more,” You argued, “She wants me to actually make friends here. Outside of the studio!” 

“You’re the one who decided to move here,” Bradley pointed out. 

“And you’re the one who keeps me virtually locked up here!” 

“It’s my job to protect you. None of the people I work with are worth knowing, anyway, aside from Phoenix maybe.”

“Great, so introduce me to Phoenix!” You begged. 

“One drink,” He held up one finger, eyebrows pinched tight. He wasn’t joking. You were his baby sister, it was his job to look after you and protect you from everyone and everything. Including everyone he worked with. 

He wasn’t even sure if the Daggers knew he had a little sister. Phoenix and Bob knew, because they were Phoenix and Bob. But the others had no idea, and Bradley planned on keeping it that way if he could help it. He wanted you to stay as far away from military men as you possibly could 

“Two,” You bargained. 

“Fine, then you’re coming home.”

“You have to play me one song too,” You said firmly, “One round of Great Balls and I’ll be happy.”

“You have yourself a deal,” He sighed, “Now c’mon. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

You threw your arms up in victory and ran to go change quickly out of your leotard. Twenty minutes later, you were pulling into the parking lot of the famous Hard Deck. Another five minutes after that and you had a cocktail in your hands as you watched Brad mingle with various people in uniform. He hated wearing his uniform to the Hard Deck, he always came home to change first. 

“Penny, my dear, can I get another one?” A blonde asked, “Thanks darlin!” 

You rolled your eyes and took another sip. Once the blonde had his new bottle of beer he turned his attention to you, which you were hoping to avoid. You had watched him watching just about every girl in this bar. He seemed to know everyone, and know all of the girls. It made you want to be sick. 

“Now who might you be, sweetheart?” 

You eyed Penny, who not so casually eyed the bell by the corner of the bar top. You wanted to laugh knowing she’d ring this guy in an instant for you. All you had to do was say the word. 

“Not your type,” You replied, taking another sip, “Try the leggy blonde at the other end. She’s drooling over all of you patches.”

“I don’t think I want a tag chaser,” He replied, southern draw on full display, “What’s your name?”

You huffed before setting your cocktail down on the bar in front of you and turning slightly to face the man, “They call me Swan.”

“You a pilot?” He questioned, eyebrows raised. 

“No, just related to one. My uncles gave me my own callsign when I was a kid,” you weren’t sure why you were even telling him any of this. You really wanted to tell him to fuck off back to whatever backwoods hovel he came from. 

But there was something about the way he was looking at you that made you want to see a little more of him. His green eyes were intoxicating, and you were certain he used that to his advantage with all of the ladies. You didn’t want to be another notch on his bedpost. 

Yet, you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together as he brought the bottle to his lips. You did a quick survey of the bar to see if Brad was anywhere around, but he was engrossed in a game of pool with several other uniforms. Maybe you could have a bit of fun tonight. Just for this one time. 

“What do they call you?” You asked, leaning in a little further. 

“Hangman.”

Fuck. You knew that name. He worked directly with Bradley, and obviously he had no idea who you were, otherwise he wouldn’t be talking to you. If he knew he would probably be fending off the guy at the other end of the bar who wouldn’t stop eyeing you. 

“Well, Hangman,” You said leaning in a little closer, “Why don’t you buy me another drink?”

He smiled slowly and waved over one of the other bar tenders, Grace you think her name was, and then there was another drink in your hand. 

“So, what brings you here? Never seen you before,” Hangman asks over the music. 

“My brother and I live nearby, finally convinced him to bring me along with him tonight,” You replied simply. 

“Do you need your brother’s permission?” He playfully questioned. 

“I think you’ll find, Hangman, that I don’t need anyone’s permission to do anything.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

You drank the rest of your cocktail and slid off of the barstool, “Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes and find out.”

And that was the first time you fucked Jake Hangman Seresin. In the bathroom of the Hard Deck, while your brother and all of his friends were just feet away. Brad never found out though. Instead he marched his way over to the piano and started playing Great Balls the second you reappeared from the bathroom. You laughed and skipped over, sliding onto the bench next to him. 

Jake was a little confused, watching you cozy up to Bradley when he’d been balls deep inside of you just minutes before. He was seething when you leaned over and kissed Rooster’s cheek. He didn’t think you were one to be fast and loose with everyone. But maybe he was wrong. After all, he didn’t even know your real name. 

“Who’s that with Rooster?” He asked Phoenix through gritted teeth. 

“Uh, I think that’s his little sister,” She replied, “Y/N, but everyone calls her Swan.”

Fuck. Jake Hangman Seresin was fucked. Because he’d just fucked Bradshaw’s baby sister. The baby sister that he only mentioned in passing because he had a picture of her in his locker and in his plane. Jake joked one day  that she had to be a hell of a girl and Rooster let it slip, as if he didn’t even realize he’d said it. Maybe he didn’t. But Jake felt like he was going to be sick. 

Did you know who he was? 

When the music stopped Rooster came over to the Dagger group, you following closely behind him. You had a soft smile on your face as Bradley went around the group and introduced you. But when he got to Hangman you smile turned almost innocent, so much so it made Jake hard again just looking at you. You were smiling like you didn’t have his dick in your mouth, or so deep in your pussy that you kept saying you could feel him in your stomach. 

“Hangman, this is my baby sister,” Bradley grumbled, “Y/N, this is Jake. But we all call him Hangman.”

You smiled again and stuck out your hand, “Nice to meet you, you can call me Swan.” 

You were both very much fucked. Because all either one of you wanted to do was grab the other and continue what you started in the bathroom. All you wanted to do was kiss him silly in front of everyone, and then drag him to his no doubt, big pickup truck, and fuck him in it. Truth be told, that’s all Jake wanted to do too. 

“Nice to meet you, Swan.”

[emphistic]

"I'm Lactose Intolerant"

Things Reader Should Acknowledge: I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THIS ALREADY BECAUSE I FORGOT TO SAVE IT AS A DRAFT, i have yet to get the hang of tumblr, yuuji hasnt been born yet, the itadori parents neglect their children so grandpa takes care of them, waaaaaay later is when yuuji is born, sukuna gets his tattoos when he is older

Prologue: As summer nears its end, and autumn takes its place, you find yourself in quite the situation. A new family has arrived in the neighborhood, and your parents have tasked you with greeting your new neighbors. A wacky grandpa, a gloomy tween. Seriously, could things get any worse?

A/N: Sukuna is 10 years old, while reader is 9 years old. However, Sukuna was held back a grade, so guess who is joining your class this year? *cue the confetti*

Please REFRAIN from REPOSTING MY WORK (REBLOGS ARE EXEMPTED FROM THIS RULE)

PS: i know little kids shouldnt be walking the streets alone, but lets just pretend the world is a better place

Chores are boring. Errands, on the other hand? Well, not so much.

You shielded your eyes from the rays of the sun as you walked down the street, avoiding the cracks on the pavement. The sky bled as the sun set and the songs of the birds started to come to a halt. It was a typical Saturday, help get the groceries, head home, and assist with dinner as much as possible. However, what wasn't typical was the fact that there was a moving company's truck blocking your way home.

Wow, there's definitely a better way to go about this, you sigh. Mindlessly, you kick a pebble aside and tighten your grip on your tote bag as your stride continues.

Several men in navy colored uniforms carry boxes as another man, who you estimate is a septuagenarian, surveys the workers from the front lawn of his new house. The man, who you also assume is your new neighbor, has his hands clasped behind his back and wears a green wool sweater.

Deciding to be polite, you clear your throat, neaten up your braids, and slowly approach the man, cautious as you try not to give him a heart attack. At nine years old, one may not know much, but one might know that killing your elderly neighbor is a pretty wack first impression.

The man looks quite surprised to see you approach, and even raises a white brow.

Okay, maybe this is a bad idea, you think as your palms start to sweat. You go through several introductions through your mind just to go with the most lame one.

"Hello, sir. My name is Y/N L/N. I'm your . . . uhh, new neighbor," you cringed at yourself before holding out a hand to the man.

"Ah, wasn't expecting to meet my neighbors on the first day here. I am Mr. Itadori, pleasure to meet you," his voice sounded like that of an old man's, yet, it had such a warm, cozy feel to it. He took your hand and gave it a firm shake.

"Likewise," you say, after a few seconds of silence.

"Should a girl, — pardon my rudeness — as young as you, be walking out here alone at this time?"

"Aha, my parents trust this neighborhood enough. And anyway, I was only getting groceries from the store, it's not too far from this block actually." You pointed a finger in the direction of said store.

"Wow, you must be pretty responsible for your parents to be sending you out for groceries, huh? Good to know some children in this neighborhood help out their families," Mr. Itadori turned to face a boy, probably not much older than you, who was carrying boxes into the house when he put emphasis on the word "some".

The boy had pink unruly hair, that was slicked back and spiky. You held back a giggle at the sight.

"Grandpa, I'm literally moving furniture into the house. What are you looking at me for?" The boy grumbled, but he didn't stop as he moved the boxes.

"I never said you didn't help out. I was just simply telling Y/N here, about how some children help out their families. No need to get upset now, Sukuna." Mr. Itadori gave a small chuckle, before abruptly turning to face you.

"Oh, right! How rude of me, I haven't introduced you to my grandson."

"Oh, no worries. You guys are probably busy—" You began, before being cut off.

"Nonsense! Sukuna! Come here, boy."

Sukuna muttered something, and dropped off a box by the front of the house before moving over to you and his grandpa.

Now that the boy was closer, you could make out his red eyes, and the frown on his face. Looking back at Mr. Itadori, you noticed he did not share the same qualities as his grandson, and instead had brown eyes.

"What are you waiting for? Introduce yourself!" Mr. Itadori lightly pushed Sukuna closer to you.

The taller boy stared at you for what seemed like forever, before averting his eyes to the ground and keeping them there. "Name's Sukuna."

"Y/N. But I think your grandpa already mentioned that," you tried to lighten the mood.

You swear you heard him say something along the lines of "pretty name" under his breath, but before you could ask, Sukuna retreated to his boxes. His grandpa looked displeased at that. Actually, that's quite an understatement. He looked furious with Sukuna, but he didn't do anything other than sigh and bid you adieu and good night.

You slowly walked back to your house, your arrival being a little later than usual, which your parents questioned you about, to which you explained that there was a truck in your way.

When it was time for bed, you did as you usually did. Showered, changed into your pajamas and watched a movie before cleaning up and preparing to actually go to bed. As you moved to close your window blinds, you noticed something you hadn't seen in a long time — considering no one's occupied the house next door since it was put on sale — there was a window right across from yours, and the light was on.

You didn't plan on becoming a creep at such a young age, but due to curiosity, you didn't peel your eyes away from the window. It surprised you to see that the room across from yours was a bedroom belonging to none other then Sukuna. When you saw the pink spikes of his hair come near the window, you quickly shut the blinds.

The next morning, your mom shook you awake.

You groaned, "Mom. . . What is it?"

"We have new neighbors, honey! I've already started prepping for baking an apple pie for them—" You let her ramble on while you were still half-awake.

Oh, right . . . you never mentioned your meeting with the Itadoris. Now you have to introduce yourself to them, yet again.

"—I just need you to grab a few ingredients for me, if you don't mind."

"Sure, Mom. No problem." You stretched out your arms and yawned.

"Perfect! I'll let you get ready then. I'll give the list on your way out." Then, your mom got up, and shut the door.

You yawned again and rubbed your forehead. This was definitely going to be an interesting day, to say the least.

You met your mom downstairs and she instructed you on the ingredients you needed to purchase. "Uh huh, got it. Thanks. Bye, Mom!

Still half-asleep, you slowly slipped on your sneakers and headed out through the door. The sun warmed your face, yet sent a chill down your spine.

Apples and lemon.

Apples. . .

And lemons.

You hummed to yourself as you walked down the street, passing by the Itadori house.

Apples and lemons—

"Gah!" A little rock got in your way, and you were about to faceplant onto the sidewalk when you felt a firm hand on your shoulder reel you back upward.

You turned to see who your savior was, and cocked your head to the side in surprise.

"Sukuna? What are you doing out here?"

"No 'thanks for saving me, Sukuna'? Also, contrary to your belief, other people in this neighborhood get out the house too, y'know?"

You scoffed, jutting out your bottom lip, "Thanks."

Sukuna held a smug look on his face.

"So . . . you gonna take your hand off my shoulder, or should I do that tor you?"

He looked taken aback, and swiftly returned his hand to his hoodie pocket. "I have to go get groceries. My grandpa sent me, because our house is basically empty?" Sukuna acted as if that was common knowledge.

"What did you have for dinner last night, then?"

"Ordered in."

You mumbled, "Figured."

"Anyway, Grandpa told me you know where the closest grocery store is? I need . . . directions."

"Oh! Right," you scratched the back of your neck. "I'm actually heading there right now. You can come with." If Sukuna didn't want to go with you, he certainly didn't show it (surprisingly).

"So you're actually going to turn this way, down here, across this weird looking house or something — I actually don't even know if it has someone living in it — then go in front of this—"

"Stop talking, and maybe we'll get there faster," Sukuna muttered.

You turned around to face him; he had his hands in his pocket and wore a bored look on his face. You huffed.

"Go have someone else show you the way, then. Y'know, I was actually trying to be nice to you and all. I'm even showing you the shortcut. And now look at how you're treating me." You turned away from him.

"'Trying to be nice'? Please. You haven't asked me how day was going. 'Trying to be nice' my ass."

You ignored his use profanity at such a young age, and you came to a skidding halt; Sukuna even bumped into your back when you stopped abruptly.

"What is your problem!? So what if I haven't asked you how your day was going? SO WHAT? You haven't asked me either. If you don't like me just leave. me. alone!"

"People are so uptight these days," Sukuna shrugged.

"Uptight? UPTIGHT? Please, be my guest, and show me how I'm the uptight one here." You couldn't believe this dude. He's the only other kid in this neighborhood — besides your sibling — and he refuses to be cooperative, kind, nonetheless, a decent person.

The rest of the walk to the grocery store happened in silence. And believe me, the silence was loooouuuuddd. You wholeheartedly believed Sukuna would leave, but he didn't. Which made you even more mad.

The bell above the door chimed when you stepped in the store, out of pettiness, you didn't even hold the door for Sukuna. He scoffed at that, and you turned around to face him. "Well, here you are. The grocery store. Happy now?"

"I'm never happy."

Wow, he must've been dropped on the head as a baby, because he certainly did not get the personality from his grandpa.

You walked through the aisles one by one and searched for the items your mother requested.

Apples and lemons.

You didn't even bother placing them in a bag, insisting on carrying them yourself. Meanwhile, Sukuna was still trailing behind you, much like a lost puppy. His groceries were all in a bag, and he looked ready to pay, but he was still behind you.

Finally, you got sick of his weirdness, and peered over your shoulder to get a look of his face, which was frowning, "Why are you following me?"

He looked like he was pondering, thinking of a way to answer your question. "Girls shouldn't be walking around alone. Especially you."

"Ugh, there you go again. Always thinking you're better than everyone else. And, whaddya mean 'especially me,' huh? You don't think I can handle myself? Are you here to protect me or something? Swooping in to save the day, my knight in shining armor? Seriously, Sukuna."

He groaned, and dragged his free hand down his face, "I came from a not so safe neighborhood. Can't you see I'm just trying to look out for you? If some man came up and harassed you, and I was shopping in some other aisle, would you blame me too?" His voice softened on the last part.

"Forget it, you're right. I'm wrong," you sighed and walked to the register.

When you got home, your mom ushered you inside and hurried to start on the apple pie. You bit your nails as she worked, and she quickly took notice of that.

"Something wrong, sweetie?"

You shook your head, and mouthed a simple "no".

While you were upstairs reading a book, you heard the beeping of the oven, signaling the completion of the baking process. Before you could even put down your book, your mother called out to you from downstairs.

She welcomed you in the kitchen and took great care in wrapping the freshly baked pie in tinfoil and sending you off to the Itadori house. But before that happened, however, she made you memorize your speech, reminding you to inform your next door neighbors of who originally made the pie. And with a soft pat on the back from your mom, you were off.

It was a quarter past 12 o'clock when you finally found the courage to knock on your neighbor's front door. You heard a "coming!" from inside the house, and returned your hand to its side.

Loud footsteps came closer until finally the door was flung open. You were greeted by the sight of Mr. Itadori in a fluffy red robe, and equally fluffy slippers.

"Ah! Y/N. What a pleasant surprise to see you here."

You stuttered a bit, "Hi, Mr. Itadori. My mom and I wanted to formally introduce ourselves, and welcome you to the neighborhood — I didn't mention our very much brief meeting yesterday."

"Oh wow! You can tell your mother I appreciate her kind welcome." He turned his head into the house, and called for, "Sukuna! Come here, boy."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to be a bother—"

"Agh, you children. Always the same. Nonsense, Y/N. Utter nonsense."

Sukuna stood behind his grandpa in record time, his speed surprised you. "What's she doing here?" He sneered. You offered him a glare in return while Mr. Itadori was oblivious.

"Don't be rude to our kind neighbor. She's here to formally introduce herself."

"Again?"

"Yes. Again."

"Whatever."

Your eyes flickered back and forth between the Itadoris' banter. "I've brought some apple pie — my mom baked it."

Mr. Itadori's eyes lightened up as you presented the tinfoil covered dish to him. "It smells delicious! You really didn't have to, my dear."

"It was no big deal, I promise," you laughed (nervously).

"I will put this on the counter, one second," Mr. Itadori walked away, leaving you and Sukuna alone. The taller boy crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway.

"Apple pie? Really? Are you trying to kill me and my grandpa? I'm lactose intolerant. We're lactose intolerant. He just didn't want to seem rude, so he's putting it away."

"Oh. . . uhh, I didn't know that—"

"I can tell. You didn't think to ask first? How considerate of you, Y/N."

You stumbled on your words.

"I'm just messing with you. Apple pie is his absolute favorite."

Your jaw dropped six feet, before you came back to your senses and rolled your eyes, "Did you have to scare me like that?"

He laughed aloud, "Duh. Shoulda seen the look on your face. Priceless!" He continued to laugh, while your expression remained stoic, trying not to laugh as well. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he was actually funny.

When his laughter subsided, he cocked his head to the side. "What's with the face? Girls don't know how to joke around or something?"

You frowned.

Mr. Itadori returned to the both of you and patted his grandson on the back. "Well! Thank you again, Y/N. Tell your family I say thanks and appreciate their kindness."

"Of course. I'll be going now." You waved to Mr. Itadori — feigning ignorance to Sukuna — and walked back to your house next door.

When Sukuna and his grandpa sat at their newly assembled dining table, they both couldn't believe how good the apple pie tasted. Sukuna even asked for a second slice.

Mr. Itadori broke the silence, "So, school starts tomorrow."

Sukuna glanced at his elder, and raised a brow.

"Since you don't know anyone else at your new school, you can ask Y/N for help. She'll be in your grade anyway."

Sukuna sighed, "Grandpa, why are girls so difficult?"

"Ohoho," Mr. Itadori's laughter boomed throughout the house. "You're a funny one, Sukuna," and he ruffled his grandson's unruly hair, messing it up more.

[blurredcolour]

Shake It Off

Summary: Called to the Lee/Hamilton wedding near the start of your shift to aid an eighty-year-old woman experiencing chest pains, you hope against hope not to run into someone from your past. But the man you meet there might just be your future.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Paramedic!Reader

Warnings: Medical Scenarios, Awkward Social Situations, Dress Whites, Language, Military Inaccuracies, Paramedical Inaccuracies, Rating - T.

Author's Note: Inspired by the song Shake It Off by Taylor Swift, written for @laracrofted's 1989 Challenge! Thank you very much for hosting the challenge, Amelia!

Word Count: 3075

-------------------------

Maybe he won’t be here.

The thought was fleeting, and born of desperation, as you pulled up to behind the fire truck in front of the Horton Grand Hotel.

There are plenty of people with the last name of Lee, the fact that this call is taking us to the Lee/Hamilton wedding doesn’t mean he will be here. Maybe it won’t even be a Navy wedding.

Jumping out of the driver’s seat of the ambulance, your hopes were immediately dashed as a tall man in dress whites stepped forward when you reached the rear doors.

“Damn, angel, you are devastating.” He drawled smoothly and you fairly felt his eyes, mostly obscured beneath the brim of his combination cap, tracing down your uniform as you reached forward to help your partner Delgado unload the stretcher.

“Good evening, sir.” You replied with crisp professionalism. “We’re here because someone called 911?”

“You brought one of those AEDs, right? Because I think you stopped my heart…” His peach-pink lips stretched back into a grin to reveal two rows of perfectly straight, white teeth.

“You’re our 80-year-old woman, sir? Please describe your chest pain.” Delgado replied flatly and you bit your lip to prevent your smirk, loading your gear onto the gurney.

Delgado was your first regular EMT partner since your move to San Diego nearly a year ago, wooed by the $50,000 bonus Falck offered to try and stabilize their work force. He was young, his social skills more than a little rough around the edges, but he worked hard and knew his stuff. Listened to your personal woes without too much complaint and was quite honestly the closest person you had to a friend here - working the graveyard shift as a paramedic really did not afford a lot of social opportunities.

And right now, you did not at all mind that he was there to get between you and the pretty boy in uniform. Because that meant he might be willing to run interference with someone else if the need arose.

“Ms. Mable is just this way, follow me.” The handsome stranger replied easily, undeterred, and turned to lead the pair of you through the lobby, smoothly tucking his cap under his arm as he stepped inside – a well practiced move you did your damnedest to ignore. Particularly the flex of his bicep.

Following just a few steps behind him, you guided the foot of the stretcher as Delgado came last, pushing the head of it. The lobby was narrow, no more than a tiled hallway really, with a wall of windows overlooking a New Orleans style courtyard – currently filled with women in formal dresses, men in suits, and a sea of dress whites. You quickly ducked your head, focusing on following the shoes of the man in front of you.

“I’m honestly not sure what happened, she seemed to be having a great time, dancing and laughing…and then she started clutching at her chest, having trouble catching her breath.” You perked up as he finally began to say something useful.

“Did the firefighters move her somewhere more quiet?” You asked as he led the pair of you past the sign welcoming guests to the Lee/Hamilton Wedding and over to a door beside the front desk.

“Yes, we were using this space for the wedding party anyway, so we set her up in the meeting room, just here.” Pulling open the door, he gestured for you and Delgado to proceed inside.

The crew from the fire truck had set a makeshift bench out of banquet chairs for her to sit upon, the wheeled meeting chairs pushed into a corner to make as much room as possible, but it still felt cramped. The patient was resting comfortably while Lombardo, their firefighter/paramedic, was assessing her vitals and reviewing the cardiac monitor.

Ms. Mable was all of five foot two, a cloud of perfectly styled, white hair upon her head, not a strand out of place despite the dramatic turn her evening had taken. Her face was etched with the lines of a life well-lived, yet she was easily holding court amongst the crew of physically intimidating individuals, animatedly recounting a story about the cutting of a cake with a sword, based on the few words you were able to catch. They stood in their suspendered Nomex trousers and heavy boots, entranced by her performance, as a woman in her mid-fifties sat close at hand, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings.

“Thank you for your assistance, sir.” You quickly tossed back over your shoulder to your guide before diving right into the scene, pulling on your nitrile gloves, all concern about the possible presence of a certain individual vanishing in the face of your job.

Once Lombardo had fully handed the scene over to you, as it was quite apparent that this was most likely a case of angina for which the woman already carried a prescription of nitroglycerin, you settled in to talk with Ms. Mable yourself. The departure of the first responders made the room feel infinitely more spacious.

“I hear you were tearing it up on the dance floor this evening…” You smiled warmly as Delgado continued to track her vitals.

“I’ve always had a hard time saying no to good-looking pilots….my Gerry was a pilot, you know. Fifty-three years together and he got away with everything. So, when this handsome, blonde flyboy from Texas kept asking me to dance there was no way I could turn him down.” The corners of her eyes creased with mirth, and you grinned warmly as the woman laughed beside her, shaking her head fondly.

“Breathing and cognition are good.” You turned back to Delgado who added the notes to the electronic file with a nod. “How many sprays of nitroglycerin did you end up taking, Ms. Mable?”

“Two, five minutes apart, just like the pamphlet says. I really am feeling much better, I’m so sorry to have made such a fuss but my daughter, Deborah, had already dialed before I could stop her.”

“No apologies necessary, it’s always better to be safe than sorry.” You nodded to her daughter reassuringly. “Are you local or just in town for the wedding?”

“Oh, lived here for the past forty years ever since Gerry was stationed at Miramar. Once you give up snow for palm trees and sand it’s impossible to ever go back. I saw you’re not wearing a ring, dear, is that just for the job?”

Delgado snorted indelicately and if it were not for the paperwork involved you would have delivered a swift kick to his shin.

“No, Ms. Mable, just haven’t found the right man yet.” You steadily increased the volume of your voice to drown out Delgado’s utterance of ‘not for lack of trying.’ “You have a cardiologist whom you see regularly?”

Mable blinked a little at the sudden change in your tone but answered all the same, “Dr. Atwal, same age as my grandson. But he knows his business, so I listen to him. San Diego is a fabulous place to meet a young fellow you know, so many eligible men out there. A lot of handsome pilots especially…even here tonight.”

A flash of movement, accompanied by a swell in the noise of the reception down the hall, caught your attention and you raised your eyes to see the face of your guide from earlier peering through a small gap in the doorway.

“Lieutenant Seresin…” You heard Ms. Mabel sigh fondly before her heart rate began to increase alarmingly. Your eyes snapped to the cardiac monitor to review the screen for evidence of any abnormal rhythms, aware of Delgado doing the same in your periphery.

“Now Ms. Mabel, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Jake…” He drawled and that’s when you placed his accent…Texas.

He was the handsome fly boy at the centre of all the tumult then. Somehow this did not surprise you at all.

“Where would the fun be in that, Lieutenant?” Came Mable’s repartee with a wicked grin and you straightened, well aware that you needed to put a stop to this before she reached her maximum doses of nitro just for a little flirting.

“Lieutenant Seresin, would you mind stepping out so we can do our jobs? Thank you.” You turned to look up at him authoritatively, wishing you weren’t able to see how green his eyes were in this light. How his hair reminded you of spun gold, especially when it was highlighted by the medals and pins and buttons of his uniform.

“Apologies Miss, just wanted to check on Ms. Mable here…” You noticed the way his grip tightened on the wood of the door and his eyes flitted to the floor guiltily.

He was not the first nosey by-stander you had asked to step back, nor would he be the last, and yet your heart spasmed as though you had kicked his puppy.

“Much better, and she’ll continue on that path if we can finish up, thank you.” You found yourself reassuring him, willfully ignoring Delgado’s scoff.

Whether your boot knocking into his was intentional or an accident was something he, thankfully, did not question. With a sigh of relief, the Lieutenant closed the door, and you were able to turn your attention fully back to your patient, whose heart rate was normalizing, yet her eyes were full of mischief.

“Quite the catch, isn’t he?” She fairly crowed.

You cleared your throat forcefully to refocus and looked over everything once more. “Ms. Mable, I really don’t think you’re having a heart attack. Of course, we do recommend going to the hospital to have everything checked out by the doctors there.”

She was already shaking her head halfway through your statement. “Absolutely unnecessary, young lady. Where’s the thing to sign? I don’t need another ambulance ride.”

“Mom, are you sure? She said they recommend…”

“Deborah, no. If you want, you can drive me, but this is excessive.”

After a little more back and forth, Ms. Mable ended up signing the ‘refusal of service against medical advice’ form and you and Delgado packed up your gear.

“Have a good night Ms. Mable, but maybe stay away from blonde pilots from Texas?” You teased warmly before making your way back out to the lobby.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom. Finally, a chance to pee somewhere with nice smelling soap.” Delgado excused himself, leaving you alone next to a circular table near the front entrance.

The sound of the wedding party drifting through glass doors behind you in the courtyard fanned the banked coals of your anxiety into roaring flames once more now that the distraction of your duties had been removed. Brigham had to be here somewhere, this was surely his pilot’s wedding…

You surged forward toward the front doors, wanting to at least wait outside, and nearly ran headfirst into Lieutenant Seresin.

“Easy there, angel. Sorry about that. Already on your way to your next call?” He steadied you easily, hands on your shoulders. Enveloping your shoulders.

Shaking your head quickly, you laughed once at yourself. “Just heading outside to wait for my partner, the gurney takes up a lot of space.” You stepped out of his grasp and swallowed thickly. “Have a good night, Lieutenant.” You tried once again to make your escape but found him walking along with you, on the other side of the stretcher. Helping.

“Ms. Mable refused to take a ride with you?” He asked, sliding his cover onto his head as you stepped outside.

You shrugged softly, not really at liberty to discuss it, opening the back of the ambulance and loading the stretcher inside. “Thank you for your help, I appreciate it. I hope you enjoy the rest of the party.”

He smirked, leaning against the back of ambulance unhurriedly. “You seemed to be missing the part where I’m much more interested in getting to know you, angel.”

You opened your mouth to try and summon some form of polite refusal when you heard his voice.

“Yo Hangman, are you harassing anything in a uniform these days?” Followed by that irritating laugh that you had never really had a chance to try and find a reason to love.

You watched the muscle between Lieutenant Seresin’s eyebrows twitch before he turned to face the jokester, revealing Brigham “Harvard” Lennox. He looked exactly the same as your second and final date nearly six months ago, appearance slightly improved by the dress whites, though you noticed his cap was negligently still tucked beneath his arm. His arm upon which a dewy-skinned, long-limbed, glossy-haired woman hung.

He blinked a little in recognition as his eyes fell upon your face and you offered a polite smile.

“Nice to see you again…” he said a name, not your name, but at least the first letter was the same. For the sake of letting this agony end, you would have let it go, if not for Delgado’s untimely return.

His reflexive correction of your first name as he walked through the group to hop up into the back of the ambulance without a second’s hesitation immediately thickened the ambient tension.

“Oh right, yeah, been a while huh?” Brigham grinned vacuously, not even having the grace to appear embarrassed. “Lookin’ good…” He added disingenuously, glancing over your uniform with less than kind eyes, moving his arm to wrap around his date’s silk-clad waist. You watched as her perfectly manicured gel nails came to rest on his bicep, a silent proclamation that her job, if she had one, was nothing like yours.

“Oh shit, this is that pilot who ghosted you a while back.” Delgado blurted out from over your shoulder where he was stowing the last of the gear, and you clenched your fists.

“Weapon systems officer.” You snapped despite your desire to keep the exchange civil, but halfway through the correction, you realized you were speaking in unison with Lieutenant Seresin.

You didn’t miss the way Brigham’s jaw clenched in dismay before turning to see Delgado backing away with both hands raised in surrender. “Whatever, I’ll be up front.”

“So, which one of your ‘exam questions’ did she fail, Harvard?” Lieutenant Seresin asked, tone light and playful but with a dangerous edge to it.

The latter scoffed and shook his head. “What are you even talking about Hangman?!” He protested loudly.

“Baby, I’ll meet you at the car, ‘kay?” Brigham’s date pulled back, patting his chest, and tottered away on her heels.

“No really,” Lieutenant Seresin dropped the friendly façade and looked over his colleague seriously. “Which was it then? Exclusivity? Kids? Careers?”

As he listed each topic his eyes flicked between your face and Brigham’s increasingly scarlet and annoyed expression. You tried to keep an impassive mask but there was a slight tick in your jaw as you involuntarily clenched your teeth at the word ‘career.’ You had long suspected that had been the reason his texts had stopped coming. The fact that you wanted one and he wanted someone to dedicate their lives to supporting him in his.

Lieutenant Seresin’s eyes flashed in recognition, and he rounded on Brigham. “Apologize to the lady for ghosting her over having career ambitions, Harvard.” He said firmly.

“What the hell are you even talking about Hangman, you don’t even know…” Brigham sputtered in protest and a small part of you wanted to tell Lieutenant Seresin not to worry about it.

“You were an idiot, Brigham. Now apologize.” He repeated firmly and any thought of excusing Brigham’s behaviour died in that instant, because it was true. He had been an idiot and it had been painful. You had been rather convinced it was going nowhere fast, but sudden and complete silence had hurt all the same.

You almost missed the apology as the first time Brigham delivered it; he used that wrong name again. Lieutenant Seresin’s eyes narrowed into an icy glare, and it was quickly amended to your proper name.

“Now go find your date before you screw up that relationship too.” Lieutenant Seresin gestured with his chin for him to go away before barking after him, “Cover!”

Brigham slammed his cap onto his head and only walked faster toward the parking lot as you chewed on your lower lip savagely lest you do something unseemly like indulge in laughter at his expense. You took a steadying breath before turning back to face your unexpected ally.

“Come on, they’re holding calls!” Delgado shouted from the front seat, and you exhaled with that withheld laugh. One that Lieutenant Seresin echoed.

“In an effort to restore the reputation of the United States Navy, and prove to you that Brigham Lennox is an aberration, will you let me take you out for a drink?” He tilted his head with an inviting curl of his lips.

He had absolutely no right looking that attractive, or being that good of a man, or putting Brigham in his place so handily.

“I…I’m sorry I just started my shift at nine…” You fussed with your stethoscope nervously, trying to pull it into place around your neck even though it was already right where it was most comfortable.

“What time do you get off, then?” He persisted. “I’ll buy you breakfast.”

You frowned in thought, weighing the pros and cons of spending more time on another Navy boy, when an all-call came through the radio, drowning out your internal dialogue.

–  All available units, MCI northbound interstate five just after First Avenue underpass, please respond –

Your eyes widened as Delgado immediately picked up the receiver.

“Medic 3-6 responding, approximately seven minutes out.”

“Lieutenant, I have to go.” You looked to him quickly, stepping up into the ambulance, closing one door and reaching for the second as he swung it towards you. You stopped it suddenly with your palm, yanking a business card containing your station information from your front pocket and slid it into his free hand.

“My shift ends at nine, won’t be ready before 9:30. As for when I get off…” You couldn’t hold back your smirk any longer, your heart skipping a beat, making you thankful you weren’t hooked up to the cardiac monitor just then. “…we’ll just have to see about that.”

His blinding grin was the last thing you saw before you pulled the other door to the rig shut, shouting for Delgado to pull out, lights and sirens ablaze.

-------------------------

>>> return to main masterlist

[yintwintpen]

Sundays

Summary: Sundays in the South with your husband, Joel Miller, have always been interesting. This Sunday, you and Joel are supposed to host dinner at your house, and you only have 2 hours to get everything ready. But Joel thinks he can have his cake and eat it too. He says he only needs 10 minutes of your time. No outbreak.

NSFW. 18+ only.

Sundays were your favorite day of the week, while others dreaded returning to work the next day. It was the one day of the week when you spent time with your husband and church friends. Every Sunday, you alternated with one another to pick whose house you would have dinner at after Sunday service. This week, it was you and Joel's turn, and the weather couldn't have been better. This morning, you had Joel open the windows while you were getting ready for church; the occasional breeze blew through the house and made you forget that it was mid-May in Texas. 

"Almost ready?" 

You flinched and turned around, looking Joel up and down.

He pushed back his salt and pepper hair and rubbed the stubble on his chin. You leaned closer to the mirror, messing with your hair more. 

"You scared me. Almost. I'm trying to decide whether to wear my hat."

Joel walked behind and looked you over a few times, licking his lips. 

"Every Sunday you host, you wear one of those too-big hats. I don't see what would be different today. Everyone's going to be looking at the dress anyway." 

You turned around and smoothed out the front of your dress, a form-fitting yellow dress with a white collar. You grabbed your perfume, sprayed your wrists, and turned around, leaning back against the bathroom sink. Joel wore a button-down top with a navy tie and tight blue jeans. 

"Too much? Should I change?" 

Joel put his hands on either side of you and shook his head. 

"Go get the damn hat, we're going to be late." 

"Get rid of the tie, Miller. It doesn't go together at all."

You bit your lip and grabbed his tie, pulling him closer to you before looking at the clock, jogging over the closet that Joel had made for you out of one of the extra bedrooms. You stood before your full-length mirror and pulled on a white and yellow hat, putting it on and removing it. 

"You treatin' service like a fashion show."

"Why can't it be both? It's our Sunday; you're acting like you don't get it."

"I don't, but I love seeing ya dolled up."

You turned around and pulled on your sizeable yellow hat, grabbing your purse and heading towards Joel's old truck. 

"Let me get my keys," 

Joel said, walking towards the kitchen while you stood outside near the passenger door. 

"You're going to make us late, Miller."

Joel stopped locking the door behind him and paused, turning towards you. His knee poked out, an unimpressed look on his face, before he walked over and unlocked your down, opening it for you and slamming it when you got in. 

"You've got some nerve."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Throughout the service, you needed help to pay attention. You sang the songs and listened to the pastor, but your mind went a million miles a minute. You shouldn't have worn the hat; it was windy, but you couldn't break the look now that you were here. Also, the meat was thawing in the sink, and you'd have to get home and start warming up the oven so it would have time to cook. But, the worst part was Joel. 

First, he wanted his arm around you, pulling you into him. You tried not to get distracted by his musky perfume by turning away from him, but he would keep hugging you tighter. Then, after passing around the offering plate, he rested his hand on your thigh. Innocent enough, but something about him put a fire in your belly. You found yourself watching him when you should be looking forward. 

"Okay, darlin'?" he whispered into your ear. 

"Fine, thanks." 

You suck further into the pew, smiling at your friends, praying for the sermon to be over soon. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What got into you today?" Joel drove his hand resting on your thigh. You had no time for pleasantries after service today; you had to get home and prepare for dinner. You crank down the window to the truck and pull off your hat, tossing it into the back seat. 

"What do you mean?"

"You seem preoccupied."

"Thinking about dinner." 

Joel hummed in response and squeezed your thigh, looking over at you as he pulled up to the gate in front of your land. 

"Me too."

Before you could respond, he got out, fishing the keys out of his back pocket, unlocking the gate, and pushing it open for you. You crawled over the seat to the driver's side and pulled the car into the entrance, parking and returning to the passenger side, waiting for Joel to lock the gate. 

"I'll come back and unlock it." He mumbled, getting in the car and driving up your land towards the house. 

"Just leave it open, and they can just come in. We won't have to worry about it." 

"No."

"Why not?" 

Joel didn't answer; he just parked in front of the house and took the keys out of the ignition. You hit his shoulder and smiled. 

"Why didn't you just leave the gate open?"

Joel grabbed your arm and kissed your wrist. 

"I didn't want your friends walking in on somethin' sinful." 

You opened your mouth to respond and closed it quickly, looking away, trying not to smile. He kissed your arm and pulled you closer to the middle console, kissing your shoulder. 

"Baby…you know we don't have time." 

"They ain't coming until 7, I saw you looking at me today."

"You ain't see shit Joel…" You shrugged him off your shoulder and leaned down, taking off your shoes, putting them in the seat next to you, and unbuttoning the front of your dress. 

"I know when my woman wants me. You think I don't?" 

"I ain't say that. I said…this time, you're wrong. Now, I'm going to change and get ready for this dinner…"

Joel nodded and stood up, walking around the truck and opening the door for you. You started to get out, but he leaned in front of the door, stopping you from looking down at the front of your dress. 

"I can't have 10 minutes with my wife?"

"It's never 10 minutes."

"This time it is, if you stop talking and get in the back seat." 

"The back seat?" You shook your head, knelt, and crawled into the back. You winced as you felt Joel's heavy hand hit your ass. 

"We don't want the house smelling like sex." 

Joel pushed the front seat up and closed the door, climbing into the backseat with you. 

"You said anything about sex?" You tried to tease him but wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him closer to you as he kissed you hungrily. You threw your leg over his and started to grind your hips into him while he ran his hands up and down your upper back and ass. Joel spread his legs, leaning back, reaching into the front of your top, massaging your breast. You pulled back, about to remove your arms from your top. 

"Keep on your dress. Wanna fuck you in it."

You reached for his belt buckle and started to unbuckle it as he leaned forward and began to kiss and bite at your neck. You leaned back and moaned, hitting the back of your head on the seat in front of you.

"Fuck." 

"Sorry, baby." 

"10 minutes." You frowned and held the back of your head as he leaned up and quickly pulled down his pants enough for his cock to spring free, cum dripping from the head as it sat up. Joel gripped your panties, pulled them to the side, and held your hips, lifting you up and into him. 

You whimpered as you sunk down on his cock, gripping a fist full of his hair as you sunk down. Joel leaned down, his hands pulling your breast from the cups of your bra and sucking your nipple. You moaned, pushing him into your chest more, starting to grind down into him. You gasped, your back arching, and you felt how deep he was grinding right into your g-spot. You lifted yourself some and let yourself fall back down on him, lazily closing your eyes, your thighs burning from riding him as he rubbed up and down your ass, gripping it. 

"Fuck me, Joel."

He lifted you slightly, starting to thrust into you relentlessly, a deep frown on his face, and he bit his bottom lip. 

“God dammit…. repeat it…”

Joel breathed heavily through his nose, plowing into you, and you leaned back against the seat in front of you to keep your hips lifted. You could barely hear the wet slapping of your wetness and his hips bucking into you as you moaned loudly, hand pressed against the window of the car. 

"Just…just like that. Fuck me, please. I'm close."

You struggled to talk as you watched the pornographic scene in front of you, trying to focus on your words. Joel looked up at you through his eyelashes, grunting with every thrust, too pussy drunk to speak. You rub down your sweating neck and suck your fingers in Joel's mouth. He watched you wide-eyed, sucking at your fingers needily; you watched him, your fingers going to your clit. You started arching your back, nodding, hoping he knew not to stop. He licked up your finger and slowed down, starting to fuck you slow and deep. He pushed into you deeply before grunting, his hips sputtering as cum began to drip out of you. 

You hugged his neck and leaned into him, eyes closed. He eventually lifted you up some and pulled out, pushing his softening cock back into your underwear. He kissed your hands, wrists, and face, wiping the sweat from your forehead. 

"You hit your head hard." He chuckled, looking at you with his head cocked to the side, smiling. 

"Ass."

You rolled your eyes and climbed out of the back seat, shakily leaning against the truck, holding the front of your dress closed and it down. Joel got out, looked to the back seat, and put an arm around you, trying to lead you to the house quickly. 

You looked back to the seat and frowned at your crumpled-up hat. 

"You sat on my-"

"Baby, we got to get changed and prepare for dinner." He shushed you, leading you up the porch steps to the front door. 

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Don't You Forget About Me

Part One

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Description: Sometimes the most unlikely encounters with people have an immeasurable effect on your life. For Bradley Bradshaw, life at 22 right after graduating from college is far different than he ever thought it would be. It kind of seems like his whole life hasn't gone according to plan. No parents, no support system, just one man and his dad's old Bronco against the world. A chance meeting with a blond-haired teenage menace in Texas may just change everything, shaping his future in a way he never would have expected. Disclaimer: This is a Hangster story -> What you see is what you get, folks. Slight mention of homophobic/ lgbtq+ phobic family members. Word Count: 3624 Author's Note: Hiya! I wrote this fic for @roosterforme's Top Gun Rocktober Event based on the song Don't You Forget About Me by the Simple Minds. Everything about it just screamed Hangster when I listened to it again. As anybody who knows me or has read my works can surmise... I can be quite long-winded so what was supposed to be a quick blurb turned into a short two-part series. I hope you all love this fic! (Also I'm self conscious about this one because I do not write in first person. It's surprisingly hard so I'd love any feedback if you've got it!)

It's dark and smoky and loud in here and I can't believe that I let Jessica and David drag me to this party. They've long since disappeared into the crush and left me on the under-stuffed chintz armchair in some frat house’s living room. It doesn't help that I haven't been to Texas in years and I feel even more like I’m out of my depths because of it. My mom grew up here, and most of her family is still here. But she's not. In the years since I graduated from high school, I've turned hundreds of times, looking for her sweet smile, searching for her to take solace in. But she's not exactly on this mortal plane anymore. Neither of my parents are. And the closest thing I've ever had to a dad fucked off after destroying my dreams.

It fills me with an unreasonable rage every time I think about it. I know Virginia, I've lived in Virginia for years, putting myself through school in Charlottesville while working single-mindedly to get into the US Navy. I’m so close to flight school that I can taste it. I just need to get through Officer Candidate School in Rhode Island now that I’ve graduated. One final summer of building my savings by working odd jobs and I’d be free. Or so I thought.

Then, I received a notice telling me my apartment building needed to be tented for termites. My lease was only valid until I left for OCS, anyway. I debated living out of my dad's car, now mine, until I had to be in Rhode Island. That’s when I received a letter from Stephanie Williams, my mom’s cousin, inviting me to spend the summer in Texas. Driving to Texas is far from convenient, but I haven't spent any time around my family, no matter how distant they may be, in so long. And, I’m kind of homesick - homesick for the sense of camaraderie, of walking into the house after baseball practice or school and hearing anyone in the house besides myself.

Jessica and David, Stephanie’s kids, are as nice as their mom. They both attend the University of Texas, but it still feels like there is a distance between us. They can't understand the drive burning in me about the Navy, how I need to do well at OCS, how I need to become an aviator, how I need to be better than anyone else. Aunt Steph doesn't really get it either if the way she practically pushed me out the door when Jess and David mentioned the party is any indication.

It doesn't help that I'm only a week from reporting to OCS, either. I know it’s not flight school, not yet, but I know I need to study more than I need to be in this stupid little ramshackle frat house on Greek Row. The beer’s watered down and warm, tasting like piss in my mouth. Normally, I’d be right in the center of the makeshift dance floor grinding up against the scantily clad girls in sight, most of them wearing bikinis, but not tonight. 

I just want to go home again, but that’s not possible. It hasn't been for years. I leave the mostly full beer behind and search for Jess and David. There are hundreds of drunk kids in the house, and it doesn’t matter at all that I’m taller than most of them, not when people are dancing on the tables and licking alcohol off of each other. I feel like I’m suffocating. The entire house stinks of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and sweat. It takes fifteen minutes to look for either of them in the basement. When I’m halfway up the stairs, I’m tempted to leave them here and drive by in the morning to get them. But Aunt Steph would hate that.

The first floor is even worse than the basement. There may not be anybody dancing on the tables, but there is far more clothing being thrown about. It looks like there’s a drunken orgy happening in the living room on the floor. The carpet isn’t all that clean, to begin with, and add bodily fluids to it, and I nearly hurl on the spot. 

If this is what I’ve missed out on in the traditional college experience, well, I don’t want it, not at all. Thankfully, I don’t have to see either of my cousins naked and that eliminates the kitchen and living area entirely. All I have left are the bedrooms above. Just walking up the stairs, I can hear the creaking of bedsprings and lusty moans. It sounds like a contagious disease waiting to happen, and I don’t make it past the top step.

That’s it. I can’t search for Jess or David anymore and I fight my way to the front door while trying to ignore the tits that seem to get shoved into my face every few steps. As I open the door, a body slams right into me. It’s a kid, gangly and blond, knobby shoulders protruding sharply through the fabric of the worn t-shirt he’s wearing.

“Watch where you’re going, asshole!” I can’t help the chuckle pouring out of my mouth. I’ve got at least 8 inches in height on him and I could easily break him into two if I wanted to. He must be ninety pounds soaking wet and his indignation is about as intimidating as an angry chihuahua. But I’m not looking for a fight, so I just move out of the way. Something about his angry green eyes and how they glow in the fresh night air is oddly captivating. I’m honestly not expecting to see him again, but just as I reach the Bronco and open the door, I see the same person get bodily chucked out of the house.

He’s shouting expletives into the night air, and when his anger runs out, he hunches his shoulders and stomps in my direction. Of course, a snarl rips out of his mouth the moment he sees me.

“What, asshole? Haven’t you seen someone get kicked out of a party by a bunch of dicks before?” 

“I have, kid. But I wanted to know if you were okay. Your knuckles look rough.” It’s true. His knuckles are bloody and bruised like he’s been punching something hard with no control. Those are going to sting like a bitch in the morning.

He snorts and must see something unassuming in my face because he uncrosses his arms and says, “I’m not a kid, I'm seventeen.” He’s a little young to be running around the UT campus and getting thrown out of parties, but I have the feeling if I say anything, he’ll probably just jump down my throat again. “I’m Jake.”

“Bradley.” I grin back. “Get in.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but I don’t get into cars with strangers.” He’s quick-witted, that’s for sure.

“No.” If my eyes roll as I look at Jake, that’s just between him and me. He must feel like shit if he hasn’t called me out for it yet. “I have a first aid kit in the glove box. I wanted to look at your knuckles before they scab over.” Jake looks shocked. I can almost see the gears grinding in his head as he thinks my words over.

“Move over.” I have to hide my grin until he’s safely in the passenger seat. I don’t know why it feels like such a victory, having this stranger accept my help. I leave the door open and lean in. He smells coffee and spice with an undertone of musk, sitting in my passenger seat with his eyes looking far too green in the low light.

“You don’t go to UT, do you?” Instead of responding, I just pop open the glove compartment and tug out the med kit.

“So what is this, Bradley?” He sounds disgruntled. “No answers without you taking care of my hands?”

I just hold my hand out until he puts his into mine. It’s a long-fingered hand, thin and bony. No well-fed eighteen-year-old boy has hands that look like this. Hands that look like they’ve been working every day of their life. I want to know why Jake’s got such a big chip on his shoulder and why someone so young has hands that look so worn.

“I’m really alright, you know?” I’m as gentle as I can be, patting at scraped knuckles with an isopropyl alcohol soaked cotton ball. Jake may talk a big game, but he’s wincing with each word. 

“Who’d you punch to fuck up your knuckles so badly?” 

“My asshole ex-boyfriend. He was cheating on me with one of his teammates. And I just found out today.” Jake’s voice chokes on a sob, and I can’t help the twinge of sympathy that goes through me at his words. Maybe I’m too quiet, because there’s a sharp tug on my sleeve.

“D’you have a problem with that?” Jake’s glaring at me, and it takes me longer than it usually would for me to figure out why.

“About the fact that you had a boyfriend?” He nods, the movement jerky and sharp. “Why would I care about that? You love who you love, that’s it.”

He looks blown away by my immediate acceptance of who he is. But Jake seems uncomfortable at the same time, uncomfortable enough that he changes the subject. “You never answered me earlier. You don’t go to school at UT.”

“No, I don’t.” I collect the trash into a small ball and put the kit away again. It feels weird to stand out in the night and talk when I have a perfectly good driver’s seat right on the other side of the car. I can already see a hundred questions on the tip of Jake’s tongue, so I hold one hand up and point to the trash bin nearby. I can feel every bit of his gaze on my back as I lope to the can and back, opting this time to get into the driver’s seat. Of course, no sooner am I buckled in, Jake’s looking right at me.

“Why are you here, then? Why were you at that party tonight?” I can hear the naked curiosity in his tone.

“I’m staying with some of my mom’s family over the summer. A couple of my relatives go to UT for school and invited me to the party. I just graduated from college and I’m joining the Navy in a week.” It sounds so real as I say the words. They sound equally real, it looks like, to Jake.

“Why the Navy?" I haven't felt like I'm the focus of another person in a long time. I feel flayed open, horribly, uncomfortably, seen.

My voice is quiet, a little rough, a little raw as I say, "My dad was in the Navy."

"What did he do?" I blink a little, not expecting this question so soon. Normally people want to know why my dad was in the Navy, in the past tense. They want to know what happened to him. They never want to know what he did or anything else about him.

"He was a Naval Aviator, a Radar Intercept Officer, to be specific." It makes me smile, like always, remembering my dad.

"What does a Radar Intercept Whatsit do?" Jake's nearly open-mouthed in the passenger seat, body turned my way in a jumble of limbs that looks nearly too cramped to be comfortable, beat up sneakers on the floor and wholly fascinated by every word pouring out of my mouth. That's unique too. I've never felt this rush, this instant connection before with anybody. 

"A Radar Intercept Officer," I repeat, earning myself an eye roll, "is the person sitting behind the pilot. They're responsible for enabling communications with ships and other jets, navigating and monitoring the radar. Pilots fly the plane, but RIOs do everything else." 

"Sounds boring." I have to chuckle at that, because when he's not angrily grumbling, Jake's actually handsome. And that's not a realization I ever wanted to have about a seventeen-year-old I just met. Forget the place, there's the matter of how this is all the wrong time, too. I can't afford any distractions, not even cute little twinks with more attitude than sense. I'm joining the military for fuck's sake. Don't Ask, Don't Tell is still very strongly enforced and Jake seems like the type to bulldoze his way on base one day just for the hell of it. Better stick to talking about flying, that's all. And that’s if we manage to stay in touch until he’s actually legal, too.

"Do you want to become a RIO too?" His voice is hesitant as he sounds out the acronym.

"Nah, I've always wanted to become a pilot. Actually fly the planes, y'know?" I swear I can see literal fighter jets flying around Jake's head, he's so enraptured by the idea.

"Is it hard?" 

I have to shrug at that, because maybe I just have flying in my blood. "Not any harder than learning how to drive or ride a bike - at least that's what it was like for me."

I can see Jake think of a few hundred more questions, but stop him with one of my own. "What’s a seventeen year old doing at a UT frat party?" 

 His nose crinkles, "Who said I’m not a student at UT?"

"Nobody. But something about you tells me that you aren’t a UT Student, even though seventeen-year-olds join universities as freshmen all the time." I’m almost afraid to see that look on his face. But instead, Jake seems to be feeling the same awe that I was earlier - horribly, uncomfortably, seen.

“Nah. I work at one of the coffee shops on campus.” No wonder he smells like cinnamon and coffee.

"But you don't want to, do you?"

His nod is sheepishly affirmative. "My uncle says I should get out of the house and do something with myself over the summer. If he had his way, when I graduate in a year I’ll be doing the same thing. But I want to do something exciting, not farm work or work in a factory or hell, even be a barista anymore. I think the Navy might be just the thing."

I have to grin at his enthusiasm. But a part of me can’t help wondering if the reason why Jake is so interested in escaping Austin is because of something else. But I’m not quite sure how to broach the topic. It’s silent and still in the car for a little bit. Jake looks like he’s thinking of what to say, and I’m struck by the halo the streetlight we’re under makes around his hair. He’s pretty, indescribably so, even with a purplish bruise rising on his cheekbone. His long lashes shine golden against the freckles dotting his cheekbones. I reach for the polaroid I always keep in the car and snap a couple of quick pictures. I hand one to Jake, but just as he’s about to ask me why I did that, I see red and blue lights in the rear view mirror and hear sirens blaring our way.

“Shit! C’mon, Bradley! Drive the car!” It takes me a few seconds to process what he’s saying but when I do, I put the car in drive and drive sedately down the street. 

“What the fuck, Brad!” I haven’t heard anyone call me Brad in years. That’s what my mom called me, what Mav did too. “Drive a little bit faster, why don’t you?! You keep driving like a fucking turtle and the cops will catch us in no time flat!”

“I’m driving at the speed limit.” I chuckle at the way Jake grumbles under his breath. “The police won’t pull us over if we’re doing everything right. You probably don’t want them calling your folks to tell them you were at a party, underage where alcohol was being served and an orgy was happening on the living room floor, now do you?”

We’re thankfully able to leave the scene without any trouble, and I let Jake direct me through the late night Austin streets. It’s quiet, and in the half-light I can’t help noticing how incredibly small and delicate Jake is at this moment. He has me pull over a few blocks away.

“Do you make a habit of running from the cops?” He laughs at that, a genuine belly aching infectious cackle bursting out of his mouth.

“No, I don’t.” Something dark glows over his eyes just as easily as the laugh. “My uncle wouldn’t have been happy at all if he had gotten that call.”

I really don’t know what to say to that, so I just wait.

“My mom always says that she doesn’t know who my dad was, and well, I don’t know if you know much about conservative Texans, but that was a no-go for most of my family. She’s out of state, working in a library in North Carolina, I think? And I’m with my aunt and uncle until I turn 18.”   

“I’m sure the minute that happens, I’m going to get kicked out. They didn’t approve of me just because I was born out of wedlock. They hated me even more when they found out I wasn’t exactly only into girls. My mom doesn’t know how bad it is for me here. And I’m not going to tell her either. I just don't know what to do.” He sniffles, sitting in the passenger seat, cheeks pinking in the glow of the streetlights. “I don’t really know why I’m telling you this either. But it feels like the universe wanted us to meet tonight. It feels like I can trust you.”

I’m struck dumb by those words and the butterflies swarming in my stomach. I’m flattered by his trust. It has me spilling all of my biggest secrets. I tell him more about my dad, about mom, about Mav. I tell him about my biggest victories and darkest regrets. We talk for hours, taking turns baring our souls until the sky turns gray at the edges. It's the small hours of the morning, that small section of the twilight zone where everything feels extra still. My throat is scratchy and my eyes are dry. Jake’s not much better.

The sleepy drawl in his voice makes shivers trail up and down my spine and it’s still so foreign feeling like this for someone I’ve just met. It’s a little terrifying, too. Far too soon, we’re pulling up in front of the party house. 

"I should get going." A part of me wants to stop him, offer to give him a ride, anything to stay in his presence just a bit longer. But the more rational part, the one chanting US Navy and Top Gun is screaming just as vehemently no.

"Do you need a ride?" My voice is nearly too loud for this time of night.

"Nah, Bradley. I live right around the corner." Jake gives me a two-fingered salute and begins to walk away, his shoulders bowed and looking incredibly small. It's a surprise when he stops, turns back around and jogs back to the car. He flings the door open, and I'm surprised to see the two spots of pink high up on his cheeks.

"Can we stay in touch? I'd love to pick your brain about the Navy, sometime?"

I'm nodding before my common sense can speak, ignoring the insidious little voice that says, "No you won't ever see him again. You're joining the Navy."

I hand Jake a pen and a scrap of paper I found in my pockets. What I get back is his first name and a phone number. "This is my landline. See you around, Bradley?"

My reply is too quiet as I roll the syllables of his name over my tongue. By the time Jessica and David have staggered their way out to the car, I'm sure Jake was just a figment of my imagination. Two weeks later, when it's my first turn with the phones on base, I call that number. I get a message telling me that the phone number I'm calling has been disconnected. I never get rid of that note though. It's almost like something's screaming at me to remember Jake. Maybe one day I'll find him again. And who knows? Maybe he's a lot closer than I think he is.

Nine Years Later

It’s been a long road getting to Top Gun. Walking through the halls it feels like everything I’ve worked and struggled for has finally paid off. I’m a pilot, I’m talented, if I do say so myself, and there is nothing I want to do more than finally put the Bradshaw name on that trophy. Walking into the classroom that first morning, I feel like this is the start of something great. Until the first hop later that week. There’s a blond in class with an ego that cashes checks for money he doesn’t have. But he has the skill to back up his words.

“Rooster, Rooster, Rooster. Are you ever going to get off your perch?” Hangman. Even his callsign fills me with rage. I’ve never met a more annoying person in my life. But there is something about him which seems familiar. Why does Hangman of all people seem so familiar? It’s a puzzle I can’t devote any time to solving. Not when I have to knock a blond idiot down a few pegs. I wonder what the Jake I met all those years ago would think about Hangman. I hope he’s doing well, wherever he is.

Taglist:

@chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @mayhemmanaged @desert-fern @cassiemitchell @dakotakazansky @roosterforme @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @sarahsmi13s @horseshoegirl

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[jomiddlemarch]

When we fight, we win

Distantly, over the playlist you’d been singing along to with your hairbrush as a mic, the steam in the bathroom flattering both the wobble of your high notes and in the mirror, the jiggle of your upper arms as you toweled your hair dry, you heard a bell ringing. 

Not the landline your great-aunt Myrna had insisted on when she gave you the house for a song or roughly what you made teaching two credits of French lit at the community college. A chanson. Not the dryer, which had been on the fritz for the past six months, making you look at out at the postage-stamp sized backyard with its ratatouille themed straggling raised beds of eggplants, tomatoes, and peppers, and try to envision a clothesline along with the imaginary chiminea and swing you’d thought would be perfect, if you could ever justify putting any cash towards anything other than your student loans or measly retirement fund or taco Tuesdays at the dive bar six blocks away.

Not the jingle bells on the Christmas tree stuffed toy you’d gotten for your persnickety calico Bel-Gazou, who generally couldn’t be bothered to do anything unless sardines were involved.

It was the doorbell. 

And as much as you wanted to ignore it, it was possibly the repairman for the dryer, who said he might stop by but not to count on it.

You had no clothesline, and you did not want eau de mildew scenting your bedlinens again. Bleach had worked but then it had taken a good six washes before the lavender in your dryer balls conquered the smell of Clorox.

You got your wet hair bundled up in a clip, threw on cut-off shorts and a passably clean tee-shirt of some impossibly ancient vintage, likely your own freshman year when every pizza party and ice cream social seemed to have a commemorative shirt you grabbed because why not. You were barefoot but the doorbell rang again and you weren’t about to miss having the dryer fixed.

It was not Matteo, the regular guy, who couldn’t quite grow a mustache but hadn’t stopped trying.

It was not Ray, the old guy, the owner, who sometimes answered the phone and sounded like he’d swallowed an ocean’s worth of rotgut whiskey.

It was a stranger, a rangy guy in a worn pair of jeans with salt and pepper hair, flanked by two tween girls carrying clipboards, all three of them wearing navy Harris for President tee-shirts. The taller girl had her hair in puffs with American flag themed ribbon bows. The shorter one wore what appeared to be the oldest pair of Converse sneakers in the known universe.

“Good mornin,’ ma’am,” he said. You’d opened the door partway and you might have backed away, shaking your head, except for the hopeful look in the girls’ eyes and the purposeful cheer in his voice, which you could tell was not his regular tone of voice. He was Being a Good Role Model and possible also Being a Good Dad and it was already hot and you were going to vote for her anyway.

“Good morning,” you said. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re doin’ some canvassin’ today, for the Vice-President,” he said.

“Kamala Harris,” the older of the two girls said. Her skin was darker than his but she had something of him around the eyes, looked to be his daughter or niece, where the other kid, scrappy and built more compactly, seemed unrelated, maybe a friend or his girlfriend’s kid. 

“She’s running for President,” the scrappy one said. “Are you registered to vote?”

“Ellie, sweetheart, you don’t have to rush,” the man said.

“She looks like she’s about to slam the door in our faces,” Ellie retorted. She blew out an exasperated breath that didn’t budge the bangs stuck to her sweaty forehead. You wondered whether you ought to offer them some iced tea. Then you wondered if you had iced tea in the fridge. 

“No she didn’t, but she might now,” the other girl said, rolling her eyes. The eyeroll said they were relatives, possibly cousins, most like sisters.

“She wasn’t and she won’t,” you said, smiling at them all, ending with the man, giving him the Patient Smile of the Experienced Educator. He countered with a grin that said Can I buy you a drink, darlin’? and not the I know, kids these days one you’d been expecting. You wished, fleetingly, you’d put on some Black Honey lip-gloss or mascara. You wished that you had mascara that was not old enough to vote in the medicine cabinet of the Craftsman’s one full bathroom, where your 80s playlist was still belting out not to stop believin’. You willed the hair clip to stay clipped. 

“I am, registered, I mean. I just checked again last week, because they’ve been doing weird stuff, taking people off the voter rolls. It said online to check, so I did. But it’s a good question to ask,” you said, nodding encouragingly at each girl. Ellie narrowed her eyes at you but the other one smiled back. There was a moment of relative silence or at least, no one spoke. Saturday morning rumbled on, the sound of yardwork and radios playing in open windows, the very self-important terrier across the street barking a warning at a butterfly.

“Do you know your polling place?” the man said, both girls apparently derailed from their script.

“Yeah,” you said. “The middle school, over on Washington.”

“He could’ve been a king,” Ellie volunteered. “George Washington? Everybody liked him, he could’ve just kept on being in charge but he didn’t and that’s why we’re here.”

“Because of George Washington?” you said.

“Because of Kamala Harris,” the other girl said. Bel-Gazou, who didn’t like strangers at the best of times (which always included sardines and which obviously didn’t include this very sardine-free moment), meowed loudly. Audibly. You shrugged. Bel-Gazou was a calico with Big Cat aspirations. The girl gave you an appraising look. “Kamala, she stands up for everyone, including cat ladies with no kids.”

“Sarah!” the man exclaimed, almost choking. You were also almost choking, but with laughter.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I only have one cat, but no kids, so I guess I count. She’s got my vote—”

“You mean, we don’t have to ask what issues are most important to you?” Ellie said. There was a definite note of disappointment in her voice. 

“Duh, no, she already said she was on our side,” Sarah muttered.

“Reproductive rights. And climate change,” you said. “But you don’t need to persuade me. I appreciate you getting out there, volunteering.”

“We can’t vote,” Ellie said, frowning. “But we can do this.”

“You sure can,” you said.

“You wanna join us? Campaign’s lookin’ for more canvassers. They haven’t given up on turnin’ Texas blue. Or maybe purple,” the man asked. He had dark eyes and a wonderfully rumpled look, though he smelled good. So, so good and let’s face it, the grey in his hair was a turn-on. He was only asking you to volunteer, nothing else, no matter what your ovaries had to say about it.

“Maybe,” you said. “You need my email address? My cell?”

“I have a pen,” Ellie said, shoving a clipboard in front of you. Sarah huffed a little. You wrote your email neatly enough he could read it, though it would probably break all sort of rules if he texted you later that day, some sort of violation of canvassers’ HIPAA or whatever.

“I’m Joel, by the way. These are my girls, Sarah and Ellie. We’re canvassin’ for the rest of the day, then they’re going to a sleepover at their uncle’s. He takes them Saturday nights when I play gigs at Paloma’s,” he said.

“Oh, that sounds fun,” you said, pretending to yourself you meant the canvassing or the sleepover, not the idea of Joel playing something, maybe a guitar, singing covers of Johnny Cash.

“He’s single,” Ellie offered.

“But he’s got no game,” Sarah added. She glared at her father. “We’re supposed to be getting voters to say they’ll vote for her, for Kamala, not wasting time. This isn’t a meet-cute—"

Joel grimaced. His mouth was still screwed up in a wince, but his eyes were warm.

“If I’d been an undecided voter, you would have spent all this time talking to me anyway. And I said I might do some volunteering. I already write postcards with some other people over at the library on Tuesday nights, but I could try canvassing. Get out of my comfort zone,” you said. 

“That’s true,” Ellie said. 

“I’ve never written postcards, besides the wish-you-were-here kind,” Joel said. 

“Maybe, if you have a break tonight at Paloma’s, I could tell you about it. Bring a couple,” you said.

“Can kids write the postcards too?” Sarah asked. 

“Definitely,” you said. “You get a list of addresses and a message to write. You can write on your own or with your friends. No cursive, only printing, so anybody can read them.”

“Better with a friend,” Joel said. “We’ve got to be going, we’ve got another twenty doorbells to ring but Paloma’s. Eight. I’ve got decent handwriting.”

“Maybe I’ll see you there, then,” you said. 

“Hope so,” Joel replied. 

You smiled at him, watching him easy with his daughters, the sunlight catching the edges of the clipboards, Kamala Harris’s name bold across his chest. Hope was no longer something in short supply.

[mybeautifulreina]

Driver

My brain farted another fart, and here we are, having another shitpost or hc? Anyway, here I think about the brothers about their driving.

Lucifer ~the main driver of the family ~when he feels too drowsy (after chugging ten cans of coffee), he will let Mammon be the driver ~I can imagine him always clicking his tongue and being mad when other drivers are violating the rules and glaring at that driver ~"Why the heck did that driver bring their car so fast?!" "Tsk" "Did that car try to cut the queue?" "Can't they see the traffic light is red now? Hmph! How irresponsible they can be" ~if you don't like the old man nagging, I advise you to always bring and wear the earplugs with you

Mammon ~in his room, there is a car ~HE WORKS HIS ASS OFF TO GET THAT CAR ~will be your personal driver ~with him, you will get the best experience of riding the car ~imagine my reader, your and his favourite song at full volume, in the middle of the highway and night, at high speed, and both of you have the greatest time alone in his car ~thats the best thing ever where no one could disturb both of you ~just you, Mammon and his beloved car could not forget his lovely goldie

Leviathan ~don't you ever let this introverted guy fool you ~this guy has a title in Devildom Navy for a reason ~he knows how to drive but refuses to bring the car since this guy hole up in his room for who knows how long, and there are Lucifer and Mammon to be the family driver ~the type of demon that follow the rules ~anime theme opening songs all the way ~never touch the radio, or else he will summon Lotan in the middle of the highway

Satan ~even if he wants to drive the car, all the brothers are in unison to not let him sit nearer to the driver's seat ~he is an avatar of wrath, my dear reader ~he will despise those ruler breakers on the street ~putting the curses, throwing tantrums to the unresponsible drivers ~just let him read the book in the passenger seat ~ I wonder if he gets motion sickness during the journey

Asmodeus ~not gonna be a driver ~never ~why need to hassle himself when there is Lucifer and Mammon to become the driver ~will be extra fun when you, Mammon and Asmo go for a middle-of-the-night drive (of course Mammon gonna be the driver)

Beelzebub ~another one that is forbidden to be a driver ~or else he will eat the steering ~if he ever has his car, I can imagine that he decorating his car with a food theme(hamburger theme like in the Spongebob movie idk)

Belphegor ~no one allows him to be the driver since the possibility of him falling asleep during driving is high ~he even doesn't want to drive in the first place ~he wants to hug his pillow, sit at the back and sleep ~dont worry about his back since this guy can sleep anywhere and anytime (and that includes the position)

[double-j]

17 questions, 17 people

thank you for the tag @antiquitea

nickname: jess

sign: leo, and yes i do have the co-star app. (which today asked me "are you ignorning your sadness?" so that's great). anyway my friend who made me download the app would want me to specify that i am a leo sun, cancer moon, scorpio ascendant.

height: 5'5"

last thing i googled: how to rearrange photos on a tumblr post LOL

song stuck in head: "arabella" by arctic monkeys

number of followers: 217

amount of sleep: usually shoot for 7-8, sometimes 6. i used to be an intense sleeper, like 9-12 hours every night, it was not great. feel much more like a person now, haha

lucky number: 3

dream job: legit i do not wanna work, oops. changed my major 4 times in undergrad (econ, econ&math, computer engineering, film&tv), added a minor because i still wasn't sold on my major (poli sci), then panicked senior year and applied to law school. now i do in fact have two degrees staring at me and don't really want to do anything with either one, but couldn't tell you anything else that i'd rather do either. sometimes think i would maybe go back and do something with film&tv, like editing, but ya never know.

wearing: aerie leggings, savagexfenty ribbed tank, savagexfenty cropped hoodie, claw clip, white ankle socks seemingly from old navy. pretty much your everyday WFH fit for me, though lately i've been subbing the hoodie for a flannel.

movies/books that summarise you: omg hahaha just realizing i was thinking about this one and never changed it okay wow. give me some time and maybe i will think of something cause right now only the most tragic books and movies are coming to me and that’s just not accurate

favourite song: usual go to when asked for all time fave is "sweet child o' mine" by guns 'n roses. a mix of current and long-term faves, courtesy of my spotify wrapped hitting today: "atlantic city" by the band; "mardy bum" by arctic monkeys; "high infidelity" by taylor swift; "vanilla" by flipturn; "still the one" by shania twain; and "julia" by mt. joy.

favourite instrument: drums. have been harassing my husband to let me buy myself/buy me a drum kit.

aesthetic: just took a buzzfeed quiz that told me it's "dark academia" and also "4am at the airportcore." feel like that vaguely fits my personal style, because i typically dress like it's 4am at the airport, and on the rare occasion that i do go out i suppose it's vaguely dark academia? idk.

favorite author: ya girl reads almost exclusively romance novels, okay? so mostly whatever is recommended to me on the kindle app, recently read a ton from natasha knight. my sister is a diehard colleen hoover fan, which i have heard is vvv basic/lame (sorry if she's ur fave), and i've given her one opportunity to convince me. she has me reading november 9, and i cannot get past the first chapter right now.

random fun fact: i mean i feel like i just gave way too much info to every question above, lol, but my go to fun fact in college was always that i still have one of my baby teeth. still do now, as a 27 year old. no adult tooth was ever underneath. luckily it's a molar so not visible from the front, cause it is incredibly short.

no pressure tags: @theharddeck; @fandomxpreferences; @cherrycola27; @imjess-themess; @wildbornsiren; @roosterforme; @3tabbiesandalab; @thesewordsareallihavetogive; @justfandomwritings; @callsignvalley

[hereforyourdispleasure]

🎶, 💯, 💤, 🔶 - Jules, Darian

🔱, 🔺, 🚫 - Adroth

Jules

What type of music does he like?- A b i t difficult considering he's Victorian. Not exactly much variety. Those old massive music boxes on wheels that you have to turn the handle to play.

3 random facts- Probably mentioned in his original character sheet, but in his 🔥crimes🔥 he targets circus groups that use abusive methods- with both animal training and how employees are treated. He won't do anything to rivals otherwise unless really provoked.

Has major respect for anyone working in navy/maritime careers. No deep reason, he just thinks boats are funky.

Stitched the star patterns into the lapels of his ringmaster uniform himself

Sleep habits- When you're constantly travelling with the same people, animals and equipment, you get used to what noises are and aren't normal. He's a fairly light sleeper, will wake up if something's too loud or something's making noise that shouldn't be. Has a fairly tight sleep schedule, especially on days when they're moving to a new location

Do they know CPR/any other medical stuff?- Yes, while there's the official medic in the staff, Jules does know the basics. It's best to when you've got people constantly doing daring performative tricks

Darian

What type of music- 80s rock and pop, 2000s stuff and then 20s-40s songs- mostly orchestra and classical stuff like Jack Hylton, Doris Day, Vera Lynn. Likes jazz 😉 too

3 random facts- no. Good lord I talk enough about him as is. I don't know what I've shared or not

Sleep habits- Comes with the paranoia, but his sleep can be just shit. Obviously dependant on what's happening at the time. If nothing's happening he's fine, normal sleeping. If shit starts up and there's a threat on his or other people's lives? No chance. He generally sleeps a hell of a lot better if there's people he's close to in the general vicinity. It's part of the reason why he tries as much as possible to stay the night at other people's houses. Before he was talking to everyone here if Mark and Alir were out, he had a bunch of people in timeline he was on good terms with and would let him stay over. Including a guy that livestreamed Mario Kart. Dunno who the guy is, I've just had the idea for ages that Darian stays round this random streamer's house. Not for free though, he's made sure to get everyone he's done this with lots of stuff in return, otherwise he'd just feel guilty. But yeah, sleeping around people he's alright with? Completely dead, cannot wake him up, out like a lightbulb. God forbid sleeping while having physical contact with someone, he'll never wake again

Does he know medical stuff?- Yes, part of his career and training. Though he's not had chance to do it that much recently. Back up medical guy for missions

Adroth

Can he swim?- Yes, he can swim. Would rather not unless it's for relaxation or something though

Does he know how to use weapons?- As the second in command for Prince Malik's royal guard, I'd surely hope so. Prefers close range weapons, but can handle bows and crossbows just fine, nothing crazy with them though. With swords, axes, daggers, he definitely knows what he's doing

Does he drink/smoke?- You know damn well the lads hit the bar after training or battle 💪 fucking medieval equivalent to football lads. Yeah no he does drink, but nothing much unless he's with his lads 💪 and not too too regularly either. Not as much as some other versions anyway

[nova-reaper-universe]

Back onto the MHA OC I created over a year ago

They are more of a behavioural TA than a teaching TA due to 1, being able to handle Bakugou, and 2, they are not good enough at most subjects to be able to tutor

Their best subjects in school are psychology, English, and fashion (elective that mostly support or general students take) while his worst is math and biology (based on experience)

At some point in the future, her quirk gets awakened to be able to work with any type of sound, even if it very quiet, but that is even more draining (recovery girl gets very restless during the adjustment period of this awakening)

The awakening causes the quirk get out of control more often until it is eventually able to be managed (a lot of restless nights in the Aizawa-Yamada household)

Hangs with Hawks sometimes because they have similarities

Just listens to any kind of music except for like country

Especially fond of Rihanna’s music or anything that comes from Soul Eater (*insert Bakugou yelling the word “nerd” from the distance*)

Is not into meditation but is into hypnosis (hypnosis is really cool and not anything like Hitoshi’s quirk)

Insists UA uses Canadian English and wins that argument due to the lack of Americans and the prominence of Canadians (I hc that the Americans think that their schools are better than UA)

Pony is Canadian because I said so

Can also use her quirk to heal people but recovery lady advises against using it for that purpose due to the drowsiness problem (do they use it anyways? Yes. Nobody listens to the most sane member of UAs faculty)

Is the second least sane member of faculty (for these purposes) behind Nezu himself

Their “uniform” (again just a black shirt and shorts/track pants) also have stars on it

Unfortunately has stage fright especially concerning singing in front of others so typically does not do that (even though the quirk is significantly stronger when she does it compared to if he just listens to the song)

Favourite shop inside a mall is Hot Topic followed by GameStop and Old Navy (for the overalls people)

When Shoto first moves to the Aizawa-Yamada household, Star lets him have his space, however, Shoto ends up having to bunk with Star for the night due to an Endevour shaped problem at their front door (he thought that when the students came home he’d have parental rights to Shoto but he was so wrong)

Got attacked by the press when they found out that Star was the “anonymous” whistleblower (the court sucks at keeping high profile cases private) in the whole Endevour case (the public said that she was ruining a good hero’s career)

That’s it for today :)

I hope to do more again (more soon than this one year timeskip)

[occasionalsurveys]

What type of survey do you refuse to take? One that has gross questions I suppose or too short.

Is your dog mixed or full breed? I don’t have a dog currently but in high school I did, it was a German Shorthair 

Who was the last person you kissed? My husband

Do you own a pair of brass knuckles? No, why would I?

Would you take back your last boyfriend/girlfriend? No, no one has come close to my Husband

Did you babysit for money when you were in middle school? No, just my brothers and cousins - I did take a babysitting class though

How did you get your last bruise? I ran into my desk at work so I have a small one on my shin

If you could go to Africa, would you? Not really, but there are a lot of countries I don’t particularly want to go to

How often do you see your most recent ex? Never, I think he lives in a different state (He was in the Navy)

Do you think you have made a difference in anyone’s life? My husband said that I’ve made a difference in his

How old will the last person you kissed be on his/her next birthday? His bday was a few months ago but he’ll be 37 next year

What letter does your boyfriend/girlfriend’s last name start with? I’m not comfortable with sharing that

Have you ever felt like you weren’t good enough? Oh yes

Do chickens have feelings? Oh absolutely, I firmly believe all animls do

When was the last time you saw your father? In September when I went to my homestate for a visit

Is it hard leaving people behind? Of course, you constantly doubt if its a good decision.

What was the last zoo you visited? A zoo in FL

Do you like crime films and tv shows? Not really,  especially not gory or violent ones

Is there anything in your possession that probably shouldn’t be? No? 

Have you ever wanted to be a lawyer? Absolutely not, I’m horrible at arguing my point ><

What was the last type of soda you drank? A mini mt. dew a little while ago

Is there a person you talk to every day? My Husband

Does one of your parents ever complain to you about the other parent? Nope

Does your best friend have a job? Yes 

Why did you break your last promise? I’m honestly not sure the last time I promised something and broke it

When was the last time you had cookies and milk? Its been a long time :/

Is there anyone you know with an amazing personal success story? My parents, they worked really hard to get where they are

Everyone has a certain part of their body they don’t like. What’s yours? I dont’ like my teeth - they’re not horrible, I just dont’ like their shape

Have you ever made out on a couch? Yeah, hasn’t everyone?

Has your name been in someone’s Facebook status lately? I think I was tagged by my sister-in-law after our family pictures in Sept - I got an email about it but I haven’t looked.  I haven’t been on FB in nearly a year.

Do you prefer to eat carrots raw or cooked? Both, I love carrots - I actually have them for my lunch everyday lol

Do you get a lot of tourists in the area where you live? Unfortunately yes.  I live in an extremely tourist-y area AND snowbirds. Wintertime absolutely sucks for traffic, especially on top of my already 1-hr commute

What artistic medium or style seems to have the greatest impact on you emotionally? Music for sure

If you make art, do you have a favorite medium or style that you prefer to use or that best helps you express yourself emotionally? I am not creative at ALL but I like journaling a lot.

What was the last new video game you were excited about? Pokemon Scarlet and Violet! But we’ve been really busy (Husband and I play it together) so we haven’t gotten too far into it yet ><

[PROBS VERY TMI] Have you ever broken a bed or other furniture during sex? Can’t say that I have!

Would you play naked Twister? I would with my husband, might be fun lol

When you die, would you rather be buried or cremated? I’m not quite sure yet.

What’re three physical features you get complimented on a lot? Eyes, smile and how small I am - I’m very petite and people always treat me like I’m younger than I am

Who’s a current friend that you’ve known the longest? Jon in 2009 through a friend from work.  Then I met my husband at a party (for a different friend group) a few months after that.  Not long after I met my husband, we go to another party together and Jon is there - come to find out they’re in the same collage classes together! Us three and Jon’s wife (who he met in 2012) have been best friends since then

What video games did you play when you were growing up? Legend of Zelda: Link’s Awakening, Legend of Dragoon, Tomba!, Chrono Cross, Pokemon, FF7, Dragon Warrior Monsters were my favorites

What's the most stressful job you've ever had? Now >< I work at a financial firm and the time-sensitive paperwork I have to process is super annoying.

Do you have a first aid kit at home? We definitely do, I hope everyone does

How many places have you lived in your life? Too many >< Since 2012 we’ve lived in 3 different states, 4 different apartments and currently live with in-laws until our house is built early next year.  Cant wait to finally be a homeowner and finally have stable place to live!

Are your parents dog or cat people? Is that different or the same as you? They’re both.  We had a dog and cats growing up.  I’m more of a cat person but my husband is extremely allergic to them :/

Are there sounds that bother you on a visceral level? Nails on a chalkboard or SILVERWARE.  I hate the noise of metal on metal.

Are you inside right now? If you're home, what room of the house are you in? Yes, I’m in our bedroom

Did you/will you have coffee or some other form of caffeine today? Too much >< Had coffee this morning, Mt. Dew when we went to lunch earlier today and had a mini mt. dew about an hour ago >< I typically don’t have this much!

Do you bathe your pets regularly? I don’t have a pet

When you listen to music with headphones, do you keep the volume low enough to hear surrounding noise faintly, or do you blast it? Somewhat low because I dont’ want to blow out my ears ALTHOUGH its super hard to do that with Rock music as I just wanna blast it and rock out 

Have you ever watched an anime series, start to finish? Oh yeah, a few! There are a lot I need to finish though but most I’m waiting to watch with my husband and we can’t do that comfortably until we have our house :/

Do you have a friend named Nick? What’s his favourite food? I do not have a friend named Nick.

What is the best product made from milk? Cheese!

How would you feel if your husband didn’t want to wear a wedding ring? My Husband doesn’t wear his currently but that doesn’t bother me. He’s not a jewelry person and fair enough!  I don’t wear my rings all the time either (I do when we go out but not at home) Plus we need to get him a better one anyway, we kinda rushed to get his.

What do you want your wedding song to be? “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran was ours

True/false: if it’s meant to be, it will be. I’m not sure, 

Do you feel like your life would be better without a certain person in it? No? I don’t have anyone like that in my life

You go to the restroom and you see a huge spider, what do you do? I have my husband take care of it ><

Is there a game you’re addicted to? Not really at the moment.  I’d like to play more pokemon scarlet/violet but we’re just busy :/

As a child what celebrity did you look up to? I didn’t really follow any celebrities like that when I was younger

What books are you reading? I’m almost finished with the last Wheel of Time book! Have about 200 pages left of book 14. 

Do you remember the person you first kissed? Yes ><

What does your best friend call you? He has a lot of cute little names for me :)

How many people would you say you’ve been “serious” with? Just my husband.  I thought I was in love before but that was no where near how I feel now.

Do you ever get goodnight or good morning texts from people? I text my husband both - always a good morning one (he’s typically sleeping and to also let him know that I got to work safely as I have an hour commute) and sometimes a goodnight one when I can’t go give him a kiss.  

If you could choose to be any mythical character, which would you choose? Probably some kind of wizard but I’d fight for the good side

Do you find yourself on YouTube a lot? Not really.  I just don’t have time to watch videos.  The time I do have, I spend elsewhere (like doing these dumb surveys lol)

Are you satisfied with your gender? Yes, being a woman his hard sometimes but I don’t really want to be a dude lol

Has anyone suspected you of being a different sexuality? Not that I know of

Does it bother you to have blood drawn or not so much? I dont’ really like it but I haven’t had that in a long time

What would you say is your favorite type of flower? Probably Orchids I guess  

[aaronhotchstan]

Too old for this...

Chapter two

Gift

Aaron Hotchner/DavidRossi

Lots of fluff

It was the day after Garcia declared herself the office cupid and Dave was dreading coming into work. As he climbed the stairs to the catwalk and passed Hotch’s empty office he had to double check that Penelope hadn’t done something crazy like sprinkled rose petals across the poor man’s desk or left a giant teddy bear in his chair. These scenarios and more had played out in his nightmares which made the dread so much worse when he dragged himself out of bed that morning.

He was a couple hours into his stack of files and in desperate need of another coffee when he heard a knock at his door.

“Come in” He said already guessing who was on the other side.

Penelope opened his office door and made a dramatic show of closing it before she skipped over to his desk like a child who had been told to pick whatever they wanted from the toy shop.

“I was thinking about our chat all day yesterday and on my way home I stopped by to pick something up!”

Rossi could only frown at her as she pulled out a medium sized box that was covered in a silver wrapping paper and tied with a navy bow.

“And what exactly is this…thing that you picked up last night?” He asked eyeing the gift suspiciously.

Her smile got even wider at his question.

“It’s something for you to gift your crush.” She said in a sing song voice.

Rossi was beginning to feel hot at the collar looking at the gift like it was a time-bomb.

“Penelope I can’t just give Aaron a gift out of nowhere, never mind one you picked out and I don’t even know what it is!”

He took the gift from her outstretched hands anyway and held it next to his ear shaking it slightly. Didn’t feel heavy enough to be an outrageously gaudy sex-toy like he had imagined. The package inside actually made very little sound inside.

Penelope just giggled at his distrust of the whole situation.

“I promise it’s something that the Bossman will like. My goal is to get you both together not do something crazy to make him file a sexual harassment complaint.” She winked at him before strolling to the door.

She was just about to open it when Emily knocked and strode in without waiting for a reply. She paused in the doorway taking in Penelope’s mischievous glee and Rossi’s existential panic before shrugging and getting back to the business at hand.

“JJ has a case for us, Hotch said to grab our bags we will debrief on the plane. Also what is that?” She gestured to the gift Rossi was holding.

“Nothing, nothing Penelope is helping me with the possible fourth Mrs Rossi.” He said without thinking causing Penelope to burst out in laughter for a moment.

Prentiss seemed even more concerned with the dynamics in the office than before. Penelope excused herself to get herself ready in her Batcave and Dave absentmindedly shoved the package into his go- bag. Emily looked him up and down.

“I will find out what’s going on” She whispered in a slightly intimidating tone.

Dave walked with her out the office knowing that she was probably right.

“There’s nothing to find out. Trust me.” He said with a cheeky smirk.

The case had been long and draining, Dave had watched as Aaron worked non stop to catch the unsub. The mad didn’t sleep the three days they worked the case Rossi could tell with the way that his stutter would sneak up on him every so often irking him when he felt like he didn’t appear as intelligent or professional. Dave had picked up on it very quickly when Aaron was a new recruit and would overwork himself even more frequently to prove his worth.

Dave also knew that the man had been running on coffee and the occasional piece of breakroom fruit since they got there. It was due to his concern that Dave found himself outside the Unit Chief’s hotel room door, this had nothing to do with his schoolboy crush. Before he could allow himself to chicken out he knocked on the door.

He heard some shuffled footsteps and a pause long enough for the man on the other side of the door to check the peephole before deciding whether to answer. The door swung open and he was met with a very groggy Hotch dressed in his undershirt, the pair of slacks from before and his socked feet.

“Dave? Is everything okay?” He asked interrupted twice by his own violent yawns.

The man’s eyes were barely able to focus but he snorted at Hotch’s attempt to be the concerned boss ready to talk about anything Dave was worried about.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go grab something to eat. You must be starving Aaron but maybe sleep is more important just now.” He said with a teasing chuckle.

Aaron looked like he was going to argue that he was perfectly able to go out to dinner but even he didn’t seem capable to lie about his exhaustion. Truth be told on any other night the man may have come out and managed sustained on pure stubbornness alone. An adorably sleepy smile graced his features.

“You’re probably right about the not going out.” He said with a sigh before his face lit up with an idea.” Maybe we could order in some pizza? I know it’s not your restaurant quality but we could watch a movie and talk?”

Hotch looked at back at him so hopeful and with a pang in his heart Dave wondered how long it had been since anyone asked to hang out with him.

“Let me grab my bag I keep fliers of all the best pizza places around the country in there, let’s see what we can find.”

When Dave returned with his bag in hand Aaron had changed into some plain pajama pants and an ancient looking green T-shirt with some kind of mountain range printed on it. Dave toed off his shoes and set his bag down on the foot of the mostly unused looking hotel bed. He climbed onto one side of it and Aaron perched beside him as he pulled out the large stack of fliers. Aaron laughed as he took in how many Dave had.

“Here you take this half.” Dave passed half the stack to Aaron and began flipping through his own stack. He tried to ignore the way his heart jumped when their hands touched during the pass off. He felt electric sitting side by side with Hotch. He knew he must be one of the only people in the world that Hotch would let sit practically leant against him in a bed of all places. Hotch leaned away for a moment digging through the side table before pulling out his reading glasses. He put them on to read through the fliers. He did so in silence for a moment before he noticed Dave staring.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that I took my contacts out and I don’t want to waste more just to read these. They make me look like an old lady huh?” He laughed nudging Dave’s shoulder.

“On the contrary I think they make you look very distinguished.” He laughed nudging Aaron back. “Like an adorable little mole the way you still seem to be squinting through them!”

He saw a bright red blush creep up Hotch’s neck and paint his cheeks as the man laughed and threw the fliers back at him.

“Shut up! It’s an old pair! Jack managed to swipe my good ones from the bathroom sink and before I knew it he’d cracked one of the lenses. I am definitely not distinguished enough to pull off a monocle!”

Dave laughed along with him pushing down the instinct to wrap his arm around him. Who gave Hotch permission to look so damn adorable in his glasses. Dave loved that it was so easy to make the man blush, it only took the simplest compliment and he was beet red.

“Look here, Stefanos will deliver. You want margarita or peperoni?” Dave handed the flier to Aaron.

Aaron wore an evil grin. “What if I get pineapple?” He teased Rossi mischief twinkling in his brown eyes.

Dave held his hand over his heart and gasped dramatically. “That is NOT how we Italians make pizza! That is how you Americans ruin pizza!” He snatched the flier out of Hotch’s hand. “I will be ordering for you seeing as you are clearly not of sound mind”.

Hotch laughed while stretching his ridiculously long legs out on the bed grinning up at Dave who had jumped up and was typing the number into his phone.

“That’s what you deserve after calling me a mole” He chuckled.

“Aaron I called you an adorable mole, at least quote me correctly.”

He placed their order choosing Aaron’s usual peperoni which the man ended up eating without complaint. They never bothered with a movie far too entertained by their gentle teasing of each other mixed in with their old stories.

Aaron was curled up on his side, one hand cradling his head on the pillow and the other resting lazily on his stomach. Dave could see that Aaron was trying and failing to stay awake long enough to listen to his story. His eyes were drifting closed on their own accord now. Then Dave remembered the gift Garcia had got for him.

“Hey.” He gave Aaron’s shoulder a gentle shake causing the man to startle slightly before taking stock of where he was. “Sorry just one more thing before you go to sleep.” Dave pulled the box from his bag somewhat nervously and waited for Aaron.

Aaron stared at it groggy and confused. “It’s not my birthday? Right?”

Dave laughed “No Aaron it’s mid- August, just take it.”

Aaron sat up slowly and put his glasses on before gingerly accepting the gift.

“I didn’t get you anything.” He sighed guiltily before tugging on the bow.

He tore into the wrapping paper and revealed a very nice silver-grey blanket that was rolled up neatly. Aaron’s eyes lit up as he unrolled the blanket and wrapped it around himself.

“Hotel blankets are the worst! Thank you Dave!”

Before he knew it Aaron had pulled him in for a hug which he returned happily getting a chance to feel how soft the blanket was and just breathing in the other man’s warmth.

Aaron pulled back looking at him in awe.

“I love it Dave thank you! I’ll keep this in my go-bag, definitely could’ve used this when we were in Alaska.”

Dave smiled back at Aaron so pleased to have put a smile on his face. Maybe Garcia would be a great wingman after all.

Chapter three

[captainsimagines]

hunting the fates || three

Summary: When the repercussions of giving up your Immortality come back to haunt you, a journey to Hell seems to be the only solution. With the help of your friends, both old and new, you set out on a journey to destroy the three Fates who have messed with your life long enough. There you discover that your power extends further than you ever thought possible, as does the Winter Soldier’s.

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x (Fem) POC Enhanced Reader; Sam Wilson x Female Original Character

Trope(s): Fantasy/Mythology/Horror; Soulmates/Mates; Angst/Fluff/Smut; Bisexual! Bucky Barnes; Multiple POV’s

Based on the Song(s): ‘Power’ by Isak Danielson ; ‘Breakfast’ by Dove Cameron ; ‘Darkside’ by Neoni ; ‘Bow - Slowed’ by Reyn Hartley

AO3 Link

Warnings: strong language; mention of infertility; sword fighting; canon-level violence; Spider-Man: No Way Home spoilers; magic; inaccurate Greek Mythology 

Word Count: 8,500+

Author’s Note: No, Hades is not trying to steal the Reader away from Bucky. He’s just a flirty sonovabitch. But wink-wink anyways. Sorry for the late update, I just started graduate school. xxMoni

~

      Elva Bloodwing had two goals for the end of this week: One, to make sure her new trainees knew how to handle a sword. Two, to wring in her prejudices about humans.

Yet, this might be the most insane, disruptive, and weird group of humans she’s ever agreed to train. So goal number two was looking pretty bleak.

The Birdling had been first to arrive, wiping the sleep from his eyelids as he entered the room. He had greeted her with a kind smile, honorably gap-toothed and scarily genuine. Elva had not returned it, no matter the odd night before. He had immediately scoped out the weapons hanging from the black marble walls, marveling at the sharpest of them. She told him to start with the wooden swords that were stored in the kid’s section—she had told him to pick up a shield as well. The Birdling followed her orders, seemingly happy to do so, and commented something about holding a shield for the first time and not needing to throw it.

She did not laugh.

This was a training session—not a meeting to make friends. They were going to kill some sleazy, old bitches together. That was that.

The gorgeous one, as Wenrel liked to call him, arrived second. He also looked sleepy, his long hair up in a messy bun but with strands still dangling down his cheeks. He had greeted the Birdling and teased about the wooden sword. His mouth instantly shut when he reached for the steel, the sudden weight smashing the tip to the floor, ringing loudly. He apologized, and Elva simply pointed at the wooden weapons again.

It was the gorgeous soldier who showed grace with the footwork before the third human passed through the door. A sophisticated dance, born to hold a sword in his palm—or a weapon in general. Elva watched the soldier glide through his own routine, like a figure skater on ice, and the Birdling copied.

That was the moment Elva had dumbly believed this session would run smoothly. The Birdling absorbed information easily, the soldier had a background in combat training, and they seemed to work very well together—

The Goddess walked through the door, and the soldier’s attention was immediately split. Suddenly, his footwork halted. All thoughts of warming-up simply sliding from his brain. The Goddess stretched, unbothered, and the soldier ogled. The Birdling ignored—or at least, he pretended not to notice.

Funny, Elva thought. Her and the Birdling have that in common.

“That’s enough warm-ups,” Elva spoke, her voice mighty as it carried through the training facility. She was dressed in her leathers, albeit these were a navy blue and not her usual black. They allowed for great flexibility and were water resistant. On the outside. Very helpful if she fell into water—not very effective when sweating like a pig.

“I will walk you through the simple techniques of holding our weapons. Then show you how to cross blades, and avoid them.”

“Are guns not common in Hell?” the gorgeous soldier asked.

She tilted her head at him. “If your war weapons do not injure a space alien, do you think they would hurt an Immortal being?”

He blushed, the pink of his cheeks spreading to the collar of his neck. He and the others were dressed in the clothes provided: training sweatpants and loose tanks. All black.

“Fight me,” Elva continued, backing away several steps as she braced her hands in front of herself. The soldier’s eyes widened, before he stepped forward too.

“Are we holding back or are we serious?”

Elva grinned, teeth and all. “Serious as Pandora’s curiosity.”

She threw the first punch, excited when he easily dodged it. His smile was a beautiful one, one that had the ability to brighten the darkest depths of Poseidon’s seas. A guiding light.

She wanted to punch it good and well, because such beautiful things should not exist in Hell.

She and the soldier danced, tripped, twirled, and drew blood for a full five minutes. Neither of them backed down, neither of them seriously hurt. The soldier still retained his god-like abilities in this realm. It was a part of his blood after all. But she could have sworn his sweat was unlike the others. Where it should have remained, it vanished. And where it stained his shirt, it did not dry.

“Take him down!” the Birdling cried from the sidelines, hanging off the Goddess’s shoulder. The Goddess simply held him up, like this was a regular occurrence, smiling all the same. Who would support their significant other being “taken down”? Was this a joke to her? Or was she so dense—

The soldier knocked one straight and center into her nose, cutting off her air supply for a strange second. Her eyes flashed with anger before the heat quelled. The blood halted, only reaching her top lip, before she rolled her neck and concentrated. Concentrated hard as the blood rose back into her nostrils, a slow crawl, and reentered her system.

“Thought you said you couldn’t wield your powers for seven hundred years?” the Birdling said, crossing his arms as he stared her down. She rubbed at her nose absentmindedly, then looked to the soldier, who was too distracted by his momentary win and the Goddess fucking blinking to notice her arm reach forward.

She twisted him underneath her arm, locking him tight. Twisting herself, Elva bent her knees and clenched her stomach, then hauled the soldier over her shoulders and onto the mat. He made a horrible splattering sound, groaning in pain when he moved his first muscle.

Elva placed her hands on her hips, looking over at the Birdling with a satisfied expression. “I cannot wield my true power. But I can still control my own blood.”

The soldier looked up at her, his hair now pulled from the hair tie, his stare hard. Not in a mean way, not even in threatening promise. He simply stared into her red eyes as a small crease between his eyebrows began to take form.

Later, after they’ve worked through some footwork and defense maneuvers, Elva judged them individually. She had to give the Goddess some credit—her past training must have included some form of meditation technique or patience. Like an archer readying their bow. Swift and ancient.

Perhaps a bow and arrow would better suit her.

Elva stepped behind the Birdling, counting his steps, studying his roundabouts and the shapes his pointed toes made. He kept missing the sixth and fumbling the eighth.

“Birdling, no,” she grunted, taking his shield from him. He was more than happy to be ridden of the wooden atrocity. “Don’t worry about this damned thing. It was for stability and familiarity. But that won’t matter if you cannot walk.”

“I’m doing the footwork I learned in the Air Force, when boxing. You’re telling me I’ve been doing it wrong all these years?”

Elva shook her head. “Not wrong. You are just doing another dance that does not require you to hold a sword. You must change that dance."

The Birdling huffed, stretching out his neck. “Then I am your loyal student. Teach me. Please.”

“I have been teaching you. You have not been listening apparently.”

The left side of his mouth twitched, then spread into a full-blown smile. Elva tried to push down the odd feeling of melting warmth inside her abdomen, frightened in herself that she could even feel such a reaction. Was her blood acting up? Did Hades need to make her that tea again?

The two others in the room had stopped running through Elva’s routine. They were straining their ears, so obviously, two peas in a pod. Did the Birdling not receive privacy from them?

No more questions. She had a job to do.

Elva ran them all through the steps again, but added words and rhythm. She had always been a more hands-on learner, but she worked well with visuals too. But it seemed not all people learned the same way. Everybody had their strengths. She incorporated some auditory steps, let them watch her, and even used the Goddess as a partner when she slow-motioned her way through fake battle.

The Birdling worked well with hearing. He no longer missed the sixth step and would have to work on balancing his own weight with a sword in the future. The whole session was two hours and Elva only let them stop because the soldier’s stomach had roared so loudly the Goddess almost burst a lung from laughing so hard.

In the kitchens, Elva ignored the servants as she walked through and began rearranging her plate. She sees them everyday, they know her and she knows them, and introductions weren’t necessary. That didn’t stop the Goddess and the Birdling from greeting every soul they passed.

That’s it. She related more to the soldier. At least he had the good sense to keep his hands to himself and just nod.

As if reading her mind, the soldier strolled up alongside her and grabbed a plate for himself. They moved down the counter together, holding their plates out as they were loaded with eggs, sausages, and strawberry tarts. He didn’t speak until his coffee cup was filled and placed carefully on the table Elva decided to sit down at.

“So, the Fates…What are they hiding up their sleeves? Should we be prepared for iron nails or eyeballs that shoot lasers?”

Elva squinted at the soldier, frowning when he took a seat directly in front of her. “What odd things you say.”

The soldier blushed—even redder than this morning—and shrugged a broad shoulder. “You might live with demons and Gods, but I’ve seen my fair share of aliens and Nazis.”

Elva scrunched her nose. “I hate Nazis.”

“Oh, that’s good, I was worried there for a second.”

Her red eyes snapped up, holding his stare. “Your sarcasm is not your best trait.”

The soldier waved a hand while bringing his coffee to his lips with the other. “My best trait is inappropriate to say.”

“Neither is your humor, I see.”

His shoulders slumped. Sheepishly, and with a little bit of that godsforsaken sarcasm, he said, “Mm, I see. I’ll try harder, I promise.”

Elva moved the food around on her plate, taking small bites whenever she felt like it. She glanced up to see the soldier scanning the room, his mind alert. She followed his gaze and saw the Goddess sitting with the Birdling, chatting with a couple of servants and making them laugh. Like the mere fact he had his eyes on her quelled whatever worry his chest was most likely pounding with.

“Do you want to know what Hades did and still does to Nazis?”

The soldier’s gaze instantly snapped to her face. He didn’t speak, but there was something in his eyes that told her she should continue. “Hades is a kind God. He shows a lot of mercy. He did not create this place or the three levels. He is not the first and he is not the last. But he was Hades during your World War.”

The soldier wrapped both his hands, flesh and metal, around his mug. Elva continued, “He brought them in as a group and told them they had two choices. One, to venture to Tartarus and burn for all eternity. Or two, to say they were sorry.”

“What? How could he just forgive—”

“Every single one of them said they were sorry. And Hades told them that words were not currency. That they were cowards for what they did and for not admitting to it after death. He stripped them of their name, of their memories except for the atrocities they did. Stripped them of their prejudices, of their hatred, of everything that once made them human. He made them burn in Hell with only the memories of what had been done. Not the why, just the horror.”

The soldier swallowed his coffee a bit too loudly, but he urged her to finish. So she did, smiling a little as she neared her favorite part. “They cannot sleep or eat or bathe. They do not know love or calm or reason. All they know is blood and death. It is making them go mad. The greatest torture is to rip out someone's heart. That’s where your humanity lies, no? You can argue and say these villains had no heart at all, but they did. It beat and it bled and they still went against its purpose.”

She thinks he’s going to ask her a million more questions, but he simply nods and stands. She doesn’t know if she’s angered him or answered his original question. Still, Elva can’t help but feel the slightest bit guilty, shameful that she ruined his breakfast.

But he smirked at her, grabbing the last strawberry tart on his plate to go. “So the presence of a heart doesn’t always guarantee goodness, huh?”

Elva shook her head, and bit into her toast. “The absence of one doesn’t always guarantee evil either.”

He nodded again, as if digesting the words. “Enjoy your breakfast, Elva. Thank you for training this morning.”

Before he could leave her, Elva reached out to grip his wrist. The soldier startled, looking from her to their point of contact. No doubt debating whether to pry her off. She does it for him, and cursed inwardly that she forgot his aversion to touch. “Those villains wanted you to reject your humanity, Bucky. The Fates wanted that. They wanted that of me, too.”

The soldier, Bucky, seemed to realize that she had finally said his name this morning. That their squabble last night, his prejudices against her that seemed to have died in his sleep, did not matter anymore.

They had a common enemy and Bucky Barnes was a person who would fight by his foe’s side if it meant peace and tranquility for those he cared for.

~

    It had only been a day.

One day and you were certain you were going to go mad. There was a difference between being locked up without consent and being trapped with consent. At least when it’s against your will there’s this adrenaline rush that propels you to find a way out faster. When you’re trapped because of your need for revenge, that adrenaline is limited. It sits, and sits, and sits and it will most likely burst when the action occurs.

You feel like you’re about to burst out of your skin, for no reason, but your body is holding you back.

Making small talk with everyone you saw after training was intense—you wanted to be nice, and it came off as fake. Not that anyone noticed. And that made you feel like shit.

The Underworld was a palace full of talkative, energetic souls and visitors that defied most of its legendary attributes. It looked like a thing of legend, but did not compare to the stories of fire and brimstone. There were no souls screaming for help—unless you ventured to Tartarus, which you weren’t ever planning to do—in fact, most souls you’ve encountered have been happy.

Happy.

Was this where Ari’s soul ventured? After he took your immortality, he mentioned wandering with purpose. Direction. Did he get a choice in where he wandered? Was his vision of an afterlife real for him?

Either way, you were tired. Tired from training, tired from faking smiles, tired from pretending this was normal. All you wanted to do was kill the three Fate bitches and get it over with. No training, no backgrounds—just cold-blooded unaliving.

“Elva said you moved like leaves in the wind today.”

“Oh my—!” You stumbled from the bed with your hand clutched to your chest, heart pounding underneath your sweaty palm. You had locked the door, had bid Sam and Bucky farewell for an afternoon nap. You didn’t expect to be woken up from the voice of Hades himself.

He smirked, his flamed blue eyes following your awkward movements. He stood casually—hands locked behind his back, silky attire draped across his broad shoulders, absent of any wrinkles. Dressed like a God. There was no other way to describe it. His aura was of casual elegance.

“What are you doing here?”

“It is my palace.”

“It is my temporary room.”

He chuckled. The rumble of death. “I am simply checking in. I will visit your friends later as well.”

“Why now? Why when I was peaceful?”

He tilted his head, that smirk stretching farther. “Do I unnerve you?”

You huffed, rubbing at your arms. This morning you had been cold—not even Bucky’s usual warmth could heat you up. In fact, it was as if Bucky was making it worse. The cardigan you wore now made you sweat, its cotton fabric suddenly suffocating.

It made sense: To feel such a wave of heat from the God of the Underworld.

“You don’t unnerve me. Women just don’t like being woken up by an unknown man’s voice.”

“We met yesterday.”

“What difference…” Your voice trailed off as you realized he was messing with you. Your nose twitched before you spread your lips into a thin line. “What do you really want?”

Hades pointed over to the vacant chair by the mirror. With more than an ounce of hesitance, you still nodded. Hades strolled to the chair, kicking its leg slightly to turn it toward you. He slumped down, hooked an ankle over a knee, and played with the red-jeweled ring on his ring finger. “Does he know?”

You squinted at him. “Does who know what?”

Hades barely pursed his lips, but the obvious expression of Really? came to life. “Does the Winter Soldier know your heart beats no more? That your immortality stayed in your heart?”

Sitting back down at the edge of the bed, you sighed as loudly as possible. You put your face in your hands. “Is that what it is? Ari took it from my magic and the Fates’ prophecy, but not my heart?”

Hades tapped his thumb and index together, thinking. “Your mate took what he could and was forced to leave it in your heart or else it would have killed you.”

Mate.

Ari was your mate.

Just hearing it confirmed made you want to sob, but nothing formed within your chest. All your grief was currently on pause—logic and reason was necessary nowadays.

“No. I have not told Bucky. Can’t he hear…or rather, not hear anything?”

Hades looked to you, to the floor, then back to you. A quick rise of his eyebrows told you he was hiding something, but that it wasn’t so drastic of a secret that it needed to be told right now. “If he focused hard enough, probably. But no heartbeat doesn’t mean you’re immortal. Doesn’t mean you're dead either. Just means you’re in limbo.”

“In life or in aging?”

Hades snorted. “Look at me, Goddess. No heartbeat, yet I can be killed by my rivals. No heartbeat, yet I yearn for my other half.”

“Your life story isn’t one I aspire to match. But I see we’re more alike after all…” You frowned at him, then moved higher up onto the bed until you were at the center of it.

A question formed at the tip of your tongue, however. A question for a question. “Do you really not know where or who your Persephone is?”

Something resembling a shiver seemed to crawl up his spine, causing him to readjust his position. “I only get glimpses. Persephone and Hades have been mates for thousands of years. My mate is out there somewhere. But for some reason, it has taken forever.”

“And forever is truly endless for an immortal,” you lamented, meeting his eyes with more sympathy now. “What do you see? Have you seen her face?”

Hades shook his head. “Orange. Lots and lots of orange. Fruit, hair, t-shirts. One time I even saw some yellow.”

You couldn’t help but grin, chuckling through your teeth. “Vague.”

“Very.” He stared at you for a few more seconds, his mouth parted around an invisible word. But he simply stood, smoothing his vest. “I only meant to check in. Elva has been collecting reports from the guards. We will find the Fates soon. Then you three will be off to the human lands.”

“Wha—“ You scrambled off the bed, rage building. “You promised to look into my infertility.”

“Yes. I did.” Hades blinked, unmoved. “I am expecting that answer any day now from Maxwell.”

“Don’t fuck me over.”

Hades paused, his stature seemingly growing—small inches mimicking miles. His shoulders loosened, his fingers dangled beautifully, and his breath steadied. Steadied like he had perfected such a mode over his thousand year reign. A God built for darkness and muted evil.

Hades reached a hand forward, gripping your chin. You did not startle, nor did you feel fear. Greenery existed in the Underworld, apparently. You’re sure you could have them smash through the walls and into his chest in a matter of seconds.

He tilted your head up so you were staring directly into his blue eyes. Blue eyes that combined flame and shadow. “I keep my promises, Goddess. I keep them so well that I don’t have to repeat them. They are guaranteed.”

You reached up and gripped his wrist, smiling at him. “That’s good to hear. But if you ever touch me without permission again, I will harvest your damned soul in one of those narcissus flowers your mate loves so much.”

Something flickered across his beautiful face—anger, surprise, respect—it was not identifiable. But he let you go, interlocking his hands behind his back, and bowed slightly at the hips. “My mistake.”

But you couldn’t just let him leave. Not when you still had so many questions. Does Elva need help locating the Fates? Can the guards be trusted? Are there any live souls down here? Where is the entrance? Is this the main afterlife?

“Is Ari here?”

Hades turned again. One eyebrow raised, he asked, “Do you think he’s here?”

“No.”

He hummed lowly. “Then why ask?”

“Because…” Something resembling a whimper formed in your chest, but you pushed it down. Down into your stomach where the acid would burn it. “Because I just had to know.”

He nodded, understanding. “His soul can be accessed. It won’t be him physically, but it is him. The Offering Room…You can visit and pray to him there.”

That was more than enough. The funeral had been six months ago and you were grieving too much to speak your prayers. Maybe now was that time.

“Thank you.”

His lips twitched at the sides. “I still speak to my mother. Besides the gardens, it’s my favorite place.”

The two of you could tell that too much had been shared already. That even if he was a God and you a Goddess, there wasn’t much else to speak about right now. Especially alone—any answers you seeked were answers Sam and Bucky wanted, needed, to have as well.

Hades finally took his leave without so much as a wave goodbye.

~

      Peter Parker wished he paid more attention to you and that weird Eternal because he could really use some summoning expertise right about now. Smacking pans together and dialing long distance numbers just wasn’t working like he thought it would.

It’s been a week. A whole week and his friends have not come home.

All is okay, all is dandy. Peter’s freaking the fuck out on the inside, but he can power through. He’s been through worse.

But rent is due in three days and he doesn’t have Sam’s banking passwords. And he’s broke. So either Peter Parker sits on his ass and faces the landlord when he inevitably comes pounding, or he can do something about it.

“C’mon, you big, blond hunk of a Viking—Answer!” Peter yelled at the roof, waving around a wad of herbs he had found in your closet. Nothing in your apartment gave him any answers either. Date, phone call, and then no one returned to either apartment that night—that’s all Peter’s come up with. He’s checked Sam’s camera footage, checked Bucky’s traps he thinks no one knows about, and has swept the apartment vents like an actual fucking spider.

He has learned nothing and seen too much.

Peter huffed, snuffing the small flame out on the herbs before throwing it across the room. This was hopeless. Bucky had his phone so Peter couldn’t exactly call up the God like he had done in Iceland. The only other person he thinks about calling is Druig, but that motherfucker doesn’t have a phone and Peter’s not about to dredge through the Amazon to find him.

Standing for a few more awkward seconds in the middle of the living room, Peter decided it was time to venture to a place he swore he wouldn’t go back to. He does not want to see the wizard—he’d rather spring off the Empire State without his webs than go and see him after what happened a few months ago.

But if he could just explain himself better, maybe bring some tangible evidence this time, then maybe Dr. Strange will entertain him for more than a few seconds before turning his attention back to whatever alien species needed to be transported off Earth that day.

“I work and I work,” Peter mumbled, arranging a last-minute bag. “And what do I get from it? No old friends and now, no new friends. Did I piss off the Gods? Did I piss off God? Who the fuck knows, certainly not me—”

A knock on the door.

Peter practically stumbled across the living room before he halted, sudden flashes of an old white man with bulky glasses and stained sweats demanding his rent pop into his mind. He listened hard, caught no old man scent—

But it is a familiar scent. So familiar he wondered if the sweatshirt in his bag had somehow teleported to the hallway when he wasn’t looking. A scent that he misses, a scent he would fight the world again for, again and again.

He ripped the door open as casually as he could, trying hard to steady his breath. But that proved impossible as he discovered her standing there: curly hair dried at the split ends, black-on-black attire, that black dahlia necklace hanging between her breasts.

MJ was here. At his apartment.

MJ. Is. Here.

“Hi.” That's all that came out. All his lungs could push upward.

MJ smiles. That wonderful smile that used to (and still does) send bolts of lightning through his spider veins. “I have literally tried every apartment building in Queens. Do you know how many knocks that is?”

She was looking for him? “I—You were looking for me?”

“Yeah, duh. But you didn’t exactly tell me much, other than I live in Queens and My name is Peter Parker.”

“What…Why did you need to find me? Did something happen?” He found himself scanning her, checking for blood or visible broken bones. MJ shivered from his gaze, and he forced himself to look back up at her face, to focus on the beauty of that perfectly curved upper lip.

“Well, yes and no. Not to me, persay. I was just there when it happened and behold! I knew the name that woman screamed out.”

“Someone…Screamed my name?”

“Oh my god, yes. I just said that. Aren’t you going to let me in?”

Peter blinked, then blinked some more. He was certain a whole hour had passed before his body moved him out of the way, before he allowed MJ through and offered her a bottle of water. He watched her sit down. Watched her pull her hair into a ponytail. Watched her scrunch up her nose as she watched the rain tumble from outside and slap against the windows. Watched her agree to a cup of hot chocolate as she sipped her water. Watched her sit at one of the barstools as he made the drink.

“Are you some sort of superhero?”

Peter cringed. He busied himself with watching the boiling milk, weighing the pros and cons of telling her the truth or not. And so what if he did? Dr. Strange hadn’t told him he couldn’t start the roster all over again. He had every right to do so.

“I’m Spider-Man.”

MJ’s tapping fingers stopped mid-air, her expression rounding into an amused glare. “You’re fucking with me.”

Peter sighed and shot a web into a corner of the room, all without even looking away from the boiling milk. He grabbed the dark chocolate bars and sank them into the pot.

MJ cleared her throat, her mouth snapping shut. Then, because she’s MJ and he knows her like he knows the sun rises in the east, she burst out laughing.

Joyous, clear laughter.

“Which mug do you want?”

“What!” MJ sat wide-eyed, her laughter now short bursts of innocent delight. “You’re just going to shoot that liquid across the room and not say anything else about it?”

“It’s not a liquid.”

“Semantics. You’re freaking Spider-Man!”

“Louder. I don’t think my landlord heard you.”

She waved a casual hand through the air. “No wonder that woman screamed for you! You could actually help them do something!”

“Who screamed my name?” He poured the brown milk the best he could without spilling it over the rims. He knew the answer before she even said it.

He handed her the drink as she answered, “The woman dating the Winter Soldier. Captain America was there, too.”

His heart plummeted. “What happened to them?”

Because he would have heard if they had been slain. He would have been contacted by Sam’s assistant, Margot, about his possible passing. The apartment would be listed and he’d be kicked out before he could even explain how Sam had promised him a room for life.

“Sucked into a portal to Hell from what I saw.”

His heart plummeted some more, turning to dust like it had six years ago. “Tell me everything.”

MJ looked up at him, her soft lips sipping from the mug. Then she gave him a salute, face going deathly serious, before she explained everything, every detail, like Peter had physically been there himself.

~

     “Elva invited me to the Guard Briefing. Thought you might want to join us.”

Bucky side-eyed Sam, popping a cherry into his mouth as he lounged on Sam’s temporary king-sized masterpiece of a bed. Why was he only given a queen?

“Oh, you’re inviting me on this little rendezvous now?”

Sam sent him a similar playful glare. “I don’t want to go toe to toe with the Winter Soldier’s wrath, so yeah.”

“The Winter Soldier is on vacation at the moment. You’ll get full Bucky Barnes wrath if you exclude me again.”

Sam laughed. “Got it. When I’m planning to engage in dumbassery, I should call you always to see if you want to join.”

“Now you’re starting to understand our relationship.”

Sam laughed again, popping a cherry from his own bowl into his mouth. He kicked his feet up onto a nearby stool. “The faster we find those witches, the faster we get to go home. How much time do you even think has passed?”

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip, thinking. Sam had sent his letter to Sarah out this morning, explaining their predicament and how they were planning on leaving as soon as possible—except Sam didn’t exactly mention they were trapped in Hell. The literal Underworld. Sam had simply called it “limbo”.

Like Sarah would ever believe that. But Sam did write and advise her to keep track of time there, to monitor the effects of their absence and notify the proper people. Sarah had Bruce Banner’s, Clint Barton’s, and Wanda Maximoff’s numbers. Bucky hoped Sarah didn’t try to contact Wanda, though. She had destroyed Kamar-Taj and basically whipped Doctor Strange’s ass last month.

Her help probably wouldn’t be the best option. Plus, no one knew where she was.

“Honestly,” Bucky continued to ponder. “Maybe a month?”

“Pfft. Don’t be so damn optimistic,” Sam teased, sarcasm drenched over every syllable.

“A week, then.”

“Two tops.” This Bucky could agree with.

A small knock sounded on the door. With a noise of approval, the door creaked open to reveal the loveliest shade of forest green Bucky had ever seen. So you had caved and opened that closet in your room.

The dress hugged you tightly around the waist but was otherwise loose on the sleeves and skirt. A soft, cotton fabric that reached mid-shin and billowed lightly at the ends. You had kept your heeled boots, however, but it only enhanced the outfit’s overall look.

“Hello, our medieval princess! To what do we owe the pleasure?” Sam beamed, chewing on another cherry.

You rolled your eyes. You made your way over to where Bucky was sitting, plopping down on his lap and kissing his cheek in greeting. Sam groaned underneath his breath, and Bucky felt all-powerful.

“I’ve come to see if you two would like to join me in the Offering Room. Hades said it was a way to…speak with souls who have passed.”

Bucky’s fingers fidgeted around your waist. “Like…Talk-talk?”

You shook your head. “No. But the soul is there, I think. That’s what he explained.”

Bucky scrunched his nose a little, trying hard not to show his distaste. It’s not that he didn’t want to join you—to be honest, fuck Sam and his rendezvous adventures. Let the fucker be eaten by a demon. Bucky wanted to spend some time with you. But going to a place where he would only be hounded by the fact that Steve was somewhere, wasn’t exactly tempting.

“Is it okay if I pass?”

You blinked at him, surprise in your irises. “Yes, it’s okay. I was not forcing you.”

Bucky’s lip twitched, rising higher on the right side. “I know you weren’t, but it’s just…I said my goodbyes. I don’t want to do it again.”

“I completely understand.”

“But do you need someone there with you? Do you want support?”

You smiled down at him. That smile that always made his chest glow from the inside-out. “I think I’ll be fine. But meet me afterward? In my room?”

“Ew,” Sam mumbled from across the room. He was searching the closets for a suitable shirt for the briefing. “I’m so glad our rooms are soundproof.”

“Not good,” you replied. “If we’re being stabbed to death, you won’t be able to hear the screams.”

Sam grimaced. “Damn, Shortcake. Straight to it.”

You stood from Bucky’s lap, the cold air immediately hitting him. Just yesterday, you two had been on your first date in six months. Now, you’re both acting as if being sucked into Hell was just a roadblock. An insignificant obstacle that had a simple solution. Tell 1940s Bucky he’d be making deals with the literal Devil and fighting non-human entities, and he would have laughed so hard a lung would have popped.

Maybe this Guard Briefing would go well. Maybe they have located all three Fates and killing them would be a piece of cake. Maybe Bucky’s life and all those scattered puzzle pieces would finally stick and form a clear picture. One that allowed Bucky to put the Winter Soldier behind him, the Avengers behind him, and only focus on you and Sam.

But just like in the “human-lands”, Sam was Captain America. Sam was going to get answers because you and Bucky were his unit, his team, and Sam was your leader. If that meant going to Underworld briefings and following a dangerous, red-eyed woman around the palace, then so be it.

“Sam and I are going to join Elva and the guards. I’ll meet you in about two hours.”

You nodded at him, sweeping down to plant a quick kiss to lips. A kiss that had him wanting more. But Bucky reined it in, quelling that feeling until it was appropriate. You seemed to notice though, because the tiny snort you accidentally released was completely at his expense.

After you left, Bucky watched Sam contemplate the combination of a black undershirt and navy blue pants.

“Automatic no,” Bucky pressed, grabbing a long-sleeved, black undershirt for himself. He slipped it on, careful to not tear the fabric across the left arm. His care was short-lived however when Sam simply reached forward and tugged at the sleeve, ripping it off completely.

“There.” Sam smiled, pulling out two extravagant vests and coats. Black with gold embroidery, and definitely something Bucky’s only seen described in fantasy novels. “Now you’re good.”

Bucky grumbled. He opted to leave his long hair down—as much as he wanted to leave behind that Winter Soldier look, he had to admit it made him look authoritative. And dominant.

“They better have some answers,” Sam said, pulling on his own vest. It stretched across the expanse of his chest, the buttons somewhat strained but capable. “Or else I’m going to get pissed.”

~

     Two servants guided you to the Offering Room, their heads bowed in silence and hands interlocked in front of themselves. You did your best to minimize the sound of your heeled boots on the stone floor, even keeping your breathing to a minimum. The servants seemed to float effortlessly.

You brought some orange slices in a bowl that you had been allowed to cut up yourself. You had mentioned how you could simply just grow the fruit, but they refused. Something about the specific fruit they gave you having been blessed already.

The servants left you alone, bowing their heads in silent goodbye. Good, because now you were able to truly marvel at what was before you.

Floor to ceiling glimmers of light, sparkling then dying out, flashing from one side to another then back and forth. The two walls to your sides were the same—a whole universe of light, enveloping you. The wall wasn’t entirely black. The base color was more silver, then ocean blue, then death’s night. And the lights were opal, pink, purple, and gold. Stars that made an appearance for a few seconds, then vanished.

You placed the bowl of oranges at the altar. Your heart leapt from all the other baskets and flowers surrounding the altar, all remnants of love, grief, and joy. Your heels clacked as you walked around, watching every soul jump and bounce, every soul a thousand, a million, a second year old. The Underworld’s treasures.

On the ceiling, water dripped onto and over the rocky surface, cascading like a waterfall. Some parts were missed, while others were hit and soaked. The bottom corners of each wall had vines growing upward, flowers full and vibrant as they tried and failed to latch onto the walls. There was no wind in the room, but something seemed to blow a soft breeze, an encouragement for each desperate petal.

You waved a wrist, turning your fingers slightly, and watched as your magic aided the first of many flowers. The vines remained the same length, but the flowers opened up more. Petals turned and glued themselves into the walls, pollen dancing from their centers and into the air. The souls within the walls shimmered all at once, overjoyed. Stars embraced by current life.

“Ari…”

The shimmering halted for a moment, the room turning darker. Your worry was short-lived, however, when a single light shone from your left. Gold. Blinking. Directly beside the raining water from the ceiling.

You raised a hand up, hovering your fingers, feeling the vibrations sink into your skin and along your veins. Pure. “Guess what I’ve been up to?”

The light blinked excitedly, hopping around in a little circle. You giggled, holding back happy tears. “Bucky is treating me well. Very well. You would have really liked him.” The light blinks twice in response.

As you take a pause, simply marveling at its brightness, you felt deep down inside, in the marrow of your bones, that you were speaking to Ari. Somewhere out there, Ari has paused because of this feeling. He had been wandering, then he wasn’t, and now he’s suspended in time and space with you. Accepting the offering, leaning against a tree bark or something, closing his eyes and envisioning you. It’s him, yet, it’s not. He’s here, yet, the universe has created a boundary. A boundary that can no longer be crossed.  

“I’ve learned how to paint. Paint by numbers, but it’s something. Remember how you were the one to paint the pottery with the women, and how they would kick you out whenever you showed them up?” you chuckled, still hovering over the golden light. “I hope you’re okay. And you might not agree with what I’m planning to do, but it’s something I want to do.”

The golden light blinked once, as if saying No, I don’t agree, but it stayed. It stayed and glowed deeper, pulsing, until it faded. Fading back into the wondrous display of a thousand souls.

~

    “If we just look across the Styx—”

“You mean if we look in the human world?” Maxwell laughed. “I know I let a demon out and I take full responsibility, but trust me. If a Fate bitch was on a beach in Cancun, I would know. Dr. Strange and his band of misfits would know.”

The guard, a stocky fellow of middle authority, snarled at him. Maxwell has dealt with these assholes for over two-hundred years—one snarl doesn’t bother him. But the fact that they were actually thinking about infiltrating Earth because they think the first Fate somehow ventured across the godsdamned Styx…

“Even then,” Hades added from across the long table, seemingly undisturbed. “Charon has no time on his hands. I will not have him row you to the other side just because of a guess.”

The guard grumbled, but took a seat. Maxwell didn’t try to hide his smirk. He turned to Sam and Bucky, two silent soldiers of their own making, standing near the entrance. Or exit, however one calls it. They hadn’t spoken much, only Sam when it came down to strategizing.

“Charon is your loyal servant, Hades. He would not have granted passage to any of the Fates.” That was the voice of the boorish and nasty Arc Kane, one of the few guards Hades enlisted on pure strength alone. “I say we travel to Tartarus. We know their parents reside there. Nyx resides there.”

So far, he was making sense. The Fates, surprisingly enough, adored their parents. Nyx, especially. But Nyx was only in Tartarus when Hemera wasn’t, so the idea wasn’t strong.

“You know only Atropos would be stupid enough to go there. Clotho and Lachesis are scared mice who scattered, but most likely scattered close by. Going after Atropos first would reduce our forces and put us at an even greater risk physically. She’s the most powerful, Kane. You do not go for the big one before the war even starts.” Elva’s speech silenced the whole room. Hades’s smile pulled higher on the left side, and the look of pure pride was evident. Of course Hades was thinking the same thing. But he was the type of God who sat back, relaxed, and let the film roll.

“What is it, Elva? Feeling emasculated because you can’t churn their blood and have to fight with your hands now?”

Maxwell slowly turned his head to Kane, his mouth splitting into a wide smile. He didn’t say anything—Elva could speak for herself. But he did want Kane to see the pure glee he was rightfully feeling.

Elva leapt across the table, papers and leftover glasses of wine toppling as her weight shook the wood. She threw herself into Kane, knocking him off his feet and onto the floor. There they rolled, punches thrown and lips cut until Elva took a hold of her hidden dagger, slicing at his cheek until his blood coated her hand. The other guards merely watched, as did Hades.

It was routine. Maxwell knew this. Sam and Bucky didn’t.

As the blood became more noticeable then the guards moved. Elva was ripped from Kane. The force of such a tug sent her flying across the room, right into Sam. He caught her the best he could, slamming into the wall behind him. Bucky steadied her by the arms, anger turning his light blue eyes as dark as the marble doors. Maxwell took a seat, just as unbothered as Hades.

“No,” Elva finally spit. She locked eyes with Kane, who was being helped up, her glare one of absolute malice. She raised her dagger to her mouth and licked the blade clean. “But I can still drink it.”

Everyone, including Sam and Bucky, shuddered. Maxwell had seen Elva go feral before—a beautiful, golden vampire-witch who drained every last drop just for fun.

“Until we have definitive proof that Atropos might be residing in Tartartus,” Hades called from across the long table. Maxwell turned to him. “I will not send my guards to investigate. Only I can make the trip under the guise of official business. I will tell you all what I gain from that visit next week. Dismissed.”

The guards, including Kane, obliged. Kane, however, exited with a scowl thrown over a shoulder, directed mainly at Elva.

“That was entertaining,” Hades teased, standing. His full height always intimidated Maxwell. A giant sure to trick you of the measure of his true strength. “But I need them to want to fight alongside you. Not against you.”

Elva huffed, pushing away Sam’s arms. He backed away, blushing slightly. “He angers me.”

Hades snorted, “Kane angers everyone. But from what I understood from the beginning of the briefing—our two lowly sisters are somewhere near. Hiding, like cowards.”

“Can’t you feel them out?” Sam asked.

“I don’t feel them out. They’re their own beings. I am not connected to them.”

Maxwell could tell they were getting annoyed. Hades wasn’t trying to seem like an asshole…He just always came off as one.

“Aren’t you supposed to know everything that happens here?” Bucky deadpanned, raising an eyebrow at the God.

Hades smirked at him, looking him up and down. “Observant, Barnes. Do you feel anything?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed as he tilted his head at the God. "What do you mean?”

Maxwell knew where this was heading. But it was still too early, just as it was too early to reveal to him that he should be able to hear the Goddess’s heartbeat. Subtle hints weren’t going to break through the dense, naive heads of two humans.

Hades seemed to debate those very questions in his own head. He watched Bucky for a few awkward seconds—or at least, it was awkward for everyone else in the room. Finally, in a low voice that Hades reserved for the gentlest of souls, he said, “You are muted on Earth…”

Bucky’s face only turned with more confusion. Even Sam pursed his lips around a silent vowel.

“What do you—

A rumble caused the walls to creak. Everything halted, even their breathing. Maxwell stood slowly, his shoulders now loose but his fists locked. “What was that?”

Hades straightened, blue light now shining like a shadow behind him. Flames even torched the ends of his night-black hair.

“Do you have earthquakes in Hell?” Sam whispered, instinct making him step close to Bucky. His stance resembled that of a prepared Avenger, but there was an underlying fear in his eyes. Fear that cracked the surface when a deafening bout of laughter whipped straight passed, invisible but there. Like a gust of wind.  

Maxwell’s first thought was to get to Wenrel. To guard her and keep her safe in his pocket. On his shoulder. Wherever, just so long as she was with him. Because Elysium had just been breached.

“Fuck.”

~

      Backing away, you wondered how many times Hades has visited the Offering Room. Who he prays to besides his mother. If he has ever asked the souls to help guide him to his mate.

It’s a shame Bucky didn’t want to join you. But it makes sense—he has already said goodbye to Steve Rogers. He had buried Steve, visited his grave, said his peace. Speaking to him again would just reopen old wounds when he’s been working so hard to keep them sealed. Friends, humanitarian work, reading, knitting—collective balms that kept his mind occupied, that relaxed his nerves and gave him a reason to wake up the next day. That distracted him from the urge to drink. The wine in Hell held no ability to intoxicate—this Bucky found out last night when he had accidentally sipped from a glass in an effort to remain casual and steady when he met the dark God.

But the Offering Room suddenly went dark again, as if reading your mind. To your right, in a glorious display of blue light that was almost white, beamed a soul. Walking slowly, cautiously, you raised a hand to its radiating heat. It pulsed, then pulsed again, breezy across the hair of your arms. In a low whisper, as if scared someone might overhear, you asked, “Are you Steve Rogers?”

The light danced in a similar circle Ari’s soul drew. Not quite as excited as your mate, but happy nonetheless. “And are you okay?”

The white light flashed twice. A yes, apparently. “I hope you’re resting. I feel like it would be inappropriate to speak of much else, you and me.”

It danced again.

Duh.

A sense of humor, this one. “Thank you for drawing Ari for me all those years ago.” Another dance. "And yes…Bucky’s okay, too.”

It stilled, shining bright, then pulsed strong enough you felt the heat beneath your feet. Yes.

The light diminished, then joined the beautiful chaos once again. You released a heavy sigh, backing away from the wall. Visiting two souls seemed to drain your energy. Your legs felt heavy and your arms were tired from being raised for so long. A long night’s sleep was the best option right about now.

You turned to walk out the Offering Room, tired but glad you came, when a rumble unlike Steve’s soul shook the stone beneath your feet. A quick one, one that ended a millisecond after it started. Seconds passed before another rumble sounded, this one shaking more than just the ground. The servants threw open the black, stone doors. Fright painted across their purple skin.

You waited, not stupid enough to take another step. Suspended with one foot forward and one back. Your back heel lifted. The wall showed no disturbance luckily—the souls were safe.

But the altar.

You turned your head slowly, years of stealth molding useful for this one moment. All that was heard was the sound of your modest breathing, the sound of the servants’ jewelry clinking.

Silence.

Then the altar exploded with a battle roar, black shadows stretching and curving as they burst from the hole in the ground. You leapt as far away as you could, hands ready to rip the vines off the Offering Walls to defend yourself and the servants.

But the four figures emerged from the clouds of smoke, all with the same pale, dry skin. Eyes as dark as onyx, as large as tennis balls. A mouth with no teeth, no smile, just a foul scent that reeked of death and torture. Hands as thin as skeletons. Bouts of laughter as ear-splitting as nails on a chalkboard.

“A shame,” the demon crawling toward you purred. “You weren’t our Persephone after all.”

~

TAGLIST: @fandoms-writings​ @hajmola-vs-aamchaska​ @natbarnes1917​​ @howlermonkey69 @shirukitsune​ @sentimental-for-maneskin​

[storm-and-starlight]

While the Crown Hangs Heavy on Either Side

All These Fictions We Took to Mean Fate

Here it is, everyone: the Warlord!Jaskier fic. This one originally started out as "what if I took the 'Jaskier sent as tribute to Geralt the warlord' premise and flipped it", and then that turned into "wait why is Jaskier a warlord in the first place?" and then I listened to Battle Cries on loop a bunch and this is what came out. It's very very angsty, though there is a happy ending (sort of), and there will be six parts counting the epilogue.

The song for this fic is Battle Cries, by The Amazing Devil

AO3

1

Jaskier wakes, alone.

For a heartbeat, while he’s still caught up in sleep-muddled thoughts and half-real dreams, he thinks that the heavy fur blankets and the soft feather mattress are, instead, the weight of a scratchy woolen cloak and the softness of an inn bed after a week of sleeping on stones, that he will roll over and right into the wall of muscle that was always there between him and the door--

and then he blinks awake, fully, and glares up at the silk hangings on his decidedly-not-an-inn-bed like they did him a personal wrong. They didn’t, they’re just hangings, sea-blue embroidery on midnight-blue silk, but they’re good and representative of everything that’s gone wrong with his life and it’s catharsis, or something like, to hate them as viciously as he does everything else.

~~

Jaskier left home at fourteen years old, leaving behind a pair of distant-but-reasonably-caring parents, a young sister prone to infections of the lungs, and an older brother who even at eighteen was already charismatic as anything, talking pirate captains into giving him passage and mercenary companies into swearing to his banner and his banner alone.

Jaskier supposes that if he put any thought to it, he could’ve done the same -- he’s never had any trouble charming people with a clever twist of words, or spinning stories to turn a mind and heart towards his way of seeing things. The problem is he never wanted to -- he’s always been content with enough skill at song to get him a decent meal and a room with a bed and perhaps a bit of recognition now and again, but his brother… oh, Valdo had plans.

Valdo set his eyes on the horizon and his hands on a blade and swore that he’d rule all of Kerack at the age of sixteen. They’d all called it the folly of youth, and then he’d gone and done it.

Take a dozen disgruntled pirate bands, sick of Novigrad’s new patrols to protect their trade, a handful of mercenary bands bored by the lack of war and too aloof for witcher’s work (and too expensive for most people to pay them to do it anyways), a proper Keracki navy loyal to the throne (a throne that Valdo had poisoned his way to, not that many people knew that), add a dash of complacency in the stable kingdoms of the north, and crown with a king brash enough to talk his way into a dozen battles and clever enough to walk away victorious, and you’ve got a perfect recipe for an empire built on a foundation of bones. (Though aren’t they all?)

Jaskier, of course, spent all those early years while his brother was consolidating power at stable, neutral Oxenfurt, ignoring the unrest and gradually more unhinged letters (until they stopped coming altogether) and focusing on drinking and carousing and occasionally schoolwork, and then as soon as he’d graduated he’d taken his lute and run away as far as he possibly could.

~~

Breakfast is the same as ever, Keracki-style seafood mixed with exotic spices and southern wines, trade and plunder from the far corners of the world that he now, ostensibly, owns.

“I trust you slept well, my Lord?” It’s only the maid who says it and no one else. He eats alone, sleeps alone, walks through the fine halls of his brother’s keep alone. The maid is a round-cheeked and cheerful thing, what he might once have considered charming into his bed when he was a much younger man, but now… no. Not like this. He offers her as much of a smile as he can muster, and leaves it at that.

“As well as ever. And you?”

“Indeed, my Lord.” She curtseys, delicately, and proffers the plate of fruit kept fresh by preservation spells. His retainers have insisted that if he is to be an emperor, he must eat like an emperor, and he’s always had too much of a weakness for fine foods to say no to that. “Shall I send in your steward?”

Jaskier blinks, straining to remember what was on the agenda. There’s no public court on Wednesdays, at least, and he doesn’t think there’s any important matters of state to attend to -- something something Redania is happening… soonish. Well, whatever it is, it’s probably not important, and if it is his steward will certainly find him anyways and inform him of that fact.

“No, thank you.”

The maid bobs her head at that, curtseys again, and flits out of the door. In her absence, the room is stone-silent and lonely and cold, and Jaskier shoves himself away from the table. If he must be alone, at the very least he won’t let himself be trapped within these walls.

~~

Those first years of the conquest were… worse than anything Jaskier’s ever been through, before or since. Nothing like wondering if this is the night your own brother will set fire to the greatest university on the Continent to set panic in a heart, after all. He’d changed his name, hidden his lineage, stopped collecting letters, and still--

Still the reports came in, from Cidaris, Brugge, Temeria, all along the coast. Towns plundered if not destroyed, lords killed, martial law and the threat of execution held over the heads of the populace. All with the shining figure of Valdo Marx Pankratz de Lettenhove at their head.

He took the coast from Cintra to Cidaris in a year, slew the king of Vergen with his own blade, and then presided over the executions of every one of the generals that had gone against him.

People started surrendering after that.

The summer that Jaskier graduated, Temeria and Redania started fighting back, and in the middle of the bloodshed Jaskier burned everything that could possibly tie him to the Pankratz family name bar a single signet ring (in case he should be captured by his brother’s forces) and fled for the edge of the world.

~~

He chooses the winter garden for his bout of melancholy, wondering idly if he has the time to find his lute and disappear. Music isn’t a preferred hobby for an all-important emperor of the entire west coast from Cintra to the Dragon Mountains, but his advisors tolerate it, and he’s given up enough else in his life; he’s not going to give up his damn lute.

He gets lost in the way the gardeners have manages to make the bare branches of the trees somehow look pretty against the white-blue sky, stark and black and climbing in elegant patterns, reaching forever for the sun but never quite able to touch it. He’d been like that, once. Now he only dreams of it.

That’s where his steward finds him hours later, right about when he really should be preparing for whatever afternoon duties he might have, watching ravens caark to each other from the branches of the winter garden and idly forming strands of poetry -- winter sunlight glints and gleams / shimmers down in endless streams / glorious in something beams--

“My Lord Julian!”

Jaskier sighs, taps his fingers against black bark. “Yeah?”

His steward, a tall, gangly, and fussy man by the name of Jaromir and who somehow continues to squint down his nose at Jaskier every time he does something suitably un-emperor-like despite having been in Jaskier’s employ for nearly nine years at this point, sighs and shoves a tightly-rolled scroll at him. “My Lord, the Redanian emissary is here.”

Jaskier blinks at him dully.

“The Redanian emissary,” Jaromir hisses, and then “for the yearly tribute, as specified in our treaty, wherein it is required you witness the presentation of said tribute to ensure goodwill between Kerack and Redania for the following year. That emissary.”

Oh. That emissary.

“Right, yeah,” Jaskier manages, faintly, and taps the bark again, a nervous tic. “I’ll be right there.”

Jaromir bows, sharply, and strides off, the severe cut of his doublet starkly bright against the green-grey of the winter garden.

Redania.

Fuck.

~~

The conquest only really stopped once Valdo had reached the limit of what he could conquer by sea, and even then he was constantly conscripting and training new men, testing the fragile borders with the eastern halves of Redania in skirmishes that continued for nearly six years. Jaskier remembers, vividly, the burned-out villages, the exhaustion of the people living near them, the way that having two separate armies in the same space taxed the land until it couldn’t even support the people who worked it.

He remembers the monsters, too, the plagues of corpse-eaters, the curses that sprung up in the wake of the armies as young mages discovered that they had a way to get back at the people who did this after all. Most of Velen is probably still overrun with ghouls -- once they get to a certain number they’re near-impossible to wipe out without years of slogging work whittling down their numbers. And with most of the witchers of the world dead and gone…

Well. Let’s just say he doesn’t envy the people living there, now or ever.

~~

The treaty with Redania was one of the first things that Jaskier did once he claimed his brother’s throne, a desperate attempt to end the war as fast as possible. It wasn’t soon enough to stop thousands from dying, but it’s served. So far. Nonaggression, limited travel across the border, and somehow or other his brother’s ever-bloodthirsty advisors -- they’ve all been fired -- managed to slip in a requirement for tribute of some sort presented to the King of Kerack once every year. Even then, he’d thought he could get away with asking for something simple -- a nice stained-glass window, perhaps, or a shipment of marble from the southeastern quarries near Mahakam.

King Vizimir, however, is a crafty bastard, and every year his tribute is something ever-so-slightly insulting -- most memorable the time he sent a harem of fifty young men, barely grown into their own height, with the apologies that all of his more strapping soldiers were occupied in rebuilding Redania, but he hoped that the Western Emperor might be able to find some use for these. (Jaskier had given them all an apprenticeship in whichever guild they wanted and passage to wherever in the world they could wish to go, but still.)

Today it’s sure to be something even more awkward for him, and he’ll have to sit there on his stupid throne and smile and accept it gracefully and pretend like he doesn’t want to barf at the thought of doing this for the rest of his life.

But he made his bed when he accepted Valdo’s fucking empire in the far-flung hope of salvaging some of the ruin his brother’s made of the world, and now he has to lie in it. Gifts of fifty blond twenty-year-olds and all.

He settles himself onto the great wooden throne, leaning gingerly against the ship’s-wheel of the back. It looks terribly dramatic, but it’s horribly uncomfortable to actually sit on - he’d much rather have a proper armchair, or even a nicely-padded log. But Kerack made its reputation on the strength of its pirate army, and now he has to fulfil that. His position is perched on top of a heap of shifting sand, and everything that helps him stay balanced is a boon.

Never mind the fact that he hasn’t truly been to sea since he was fourteen, and that only for the journey to Oxenfurt.

His advisors arrange themselves neatly around the edges of the room, Jaromir at his left hand for whichever social niceties he’ll need to be prompted for this time, and then the doors swing open and the Redanian emissary saunters in, attended by his retinue in all the red-and-white flare of Redanian nobility.

It’s a new man this time, not the old Leon with his spectacles and greying hair and stuffy manners. No, this one walks like a soldier -- no, like a knight, all pomp and swagger and flashy showing off of the jeweled hilt of his sword, and behind him--

Behind him--

“My Lord Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove, King of Kerack and Emperor of the Western Reach, I bring tribute from King Vizimir of Redania, in honor of the ongoing peace between our nations,” the emissary announces, bright and bold and ringing in the dead quiet inside Jaskier’s head. There’s more, something about honor and duty and signs of trust but Jaskier can’t hear a single godsbedamned thing he’s saying because--

Because behind him in the place of the tribute, chained and collared and staring at Jaskier like he’s just seen a ghost, is-- is Geralt.

He’s out of his throne before he’s registered that he’s even moved, the emissary’s voice stuttering to a halt, the room ringing, ringing or maybe that’s just his head because this is Geralt--

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, in that deep rumble that Jaskier knows in his bones, and something inside him cracks clean in two.

“Release him.”

The emissary jolts. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me,” and he drags up every last memory of his brother that he can, wears his casual cruelty and unquestioned authority like a cloak, and the man cringes away. “Release him. Now.”

“I… the collar is magical, my Lord.”

“Then someone find me a mage and get it off of him,” he snaps, and Geralt looks at him, sharply, like he’s not quite sure that this is Jaskier after all, and oh, that hurts, to think he’s changed so much that not even Geralt recognizes him now. There’s a seething tension in his gut, like a scream that wants to bubble up.

“Everybody out.”

“My Lord, you can’t--”

“Get out of my sight,” he says to the Redanian, low and furiously vicious, and to Jaromir “get that collar off of him,” and perhaps he’s channeled a bit too much of Valdo because his steward goes white and stammers out a response.

He draws himself back and up, looking over the stunned courtiers, at the Redanians clustered together like a flock of frightened birds, all their fine plumage deflated, at Geralt watching him with an unutterable sadness and it’s-- it’s all too much, it’s everything he never wanted because the things he’s had to do to keep this throne--

He leaves without another word.

Next

[call-me-aesthetic]

If Twisted Wonderland was an American Public School

WARNING: There are some slight sensitive topics that are featured in here! Reader discretion is advised!

Part 2 can be found here

Heartslabyul

Riddle Rosehearts:

- That one preppy girl who takes all honors and AP classes 😑

- Wants everyone to know that he’s becoming a doctor one day for his strict parents or he’ll dishonor the family

- Reminds the teacher about homework, knowing well that he’ll get slander for it

- Complains about how he got a 90 on his test or a B on his report card, a try hard much?

- Wears a cardigan with thicc but cute glasses since he’s one of those people with can’t see shit on the board so he has to move to the front of the class

Ace Trappola:

- The SoundCloud rapper, that’s it

- “Wanna listen to my mixtape? It’s pretty fire, my guy.” 😩🔥

- You will not miss him BLASTING out some song on his Bluetooth speaker, that shit be echoing through the hallways

- Tells you to stop what you’re doing only for him to either sing horribly or do a backflip, thinking that he’s so cool

- Wears a Supreme jacket with AirPods and waves on his head

Deuce Spade:

- Assuming that he’s still a delinquent, he’s that kid with the most fucked up school record

- Not much of a bully but will still talk shit to your face without caring, might even throw stuff at you during a lesson and you would be the one getting in trouble instead of him 🗿

- If he ever gets mad, it would be overdramatic like kicking the desks, punching the lockers, or walking out of the classroom unannounced and everyone would look at each other wondering wtf happened

- Covers the entire desks with drawings of skulls and those “s” if you know what I mean

- Wears Champion hoodies, wants you to know that he’s broke and rich at the same time

Trey Clover:

- The guy that’s not really popular but everyone knows him since he’s in all their classes

- Most people might have a crush on him because he’s REALLY nice 😳👉👈

- Gives off “older brother” vibes based on the way he looks and acts, like offering you a ride home if you beg ask nicely

- Secretly bakes creme brulee but doesn’t want to mess with the flow so he sticks to the status quo

- Wears the school’s hoodie just because he thinks it looks good on him, and the fact that he doesn’t know what else to wear

Cater Diamond:

- Hot Cheetos girl 🥵

- Has a whole buffet of food in his backpack and will not hesitate to eat them during a lesson, no sharing either sorry

- Excuses himself to the bathroom or full on skips class just to film a Tiktok

- Has about 100 followers on Instagram Magicam and brags about how he’s famous

- Wears a Thrasher hoodie with large hoop earrings and his hair in a bun

Savanaclaw

Leona Kingscholar:

- The kid who flunked their freshman year that also sort of vibes with new classmates

- Always gets mistaken as a teacher by people since he looks and sounds old

- Knows the lessons but still fails them anyways, didn’t really give a damn either 🙄

- Captain of every sports club you can think of, never actually plays but has a lot of knowledge on them

- Wears the school’s letterman from years ago since it used to be his brother’s and that he’s too lazy to buy a new one

Ruggie Bucchi:

- That one kid who NEVER has money for the book fair or any other school event

- Always has to ask his classmates for some cash

- If he somehow does, then he’s one of those kids who buys Diary of the Wimpy Kid or the World Record books

- If he’s feeling cheap, he’ll buy the “cool stuff” like the chocolate scented calculator or fruit snacks 😭

- Wears oversized hoodies and basketball shorts that are clearly hand-me-downs

Jack Howl:

- That one athletic kid who’s both scary good and competitive when it comes to school games like football or soccer

- Literally the best player on his team and without him, they’re trash as hell 💀

- Tries his absolute best to support his teammates without yelling at them for how dumb they are

- “KICK THE FUCKING BALL! DO YOUR LEGS EVEN WORK?!”

- Wears the school’s jersey just to show off his “school spirit”

Octavinelle

Azul Ashengrotto:

- The kid who sell snacks for “charity” but everyone knows he’s keeping the money to himself

- If you don’t have cash or try to negotiate with him, the only thing he’ll do is raise the price up

- “What do you mean you don’t have ten bucks? I can see it in your pocket.”

- Just bring nothing with you, he’ll doing anything to steal your stuff 🤭

- Wears a collar shirt with a tie and khakis that have pockets to keep his glasses and money in

Jade Leech:

- The kid who puts on a goody two shoes facade but is actually a stoner

- Only does “safe” drugs like vape but occasionally smokes weed, mostly in the bathroom or behind the school 🌬

- Can play it off and hide the scent when he’s high, teachers never suspect anything from him

- No one really cares to stop him unless he gets caught or something idk

- Wears clothing that either makes him look like a businessman or a junky, there’s nothing in between

Floyd Leech:

- The kid that’s plays basketball or volleyball just because he’s hella tall, and is actually good at the sports but doesn’t put much effort into them

- Always stays behind after gym, even though the teacher tries to make him leave for his next class 😬

- “I swear after this one shot, I’ll go to class.” *He never made that shot*

- Will jump you no matter who or where you are, and will get angry if you step on his new shoes

- Wears the jersey of any famous team with the latest pair of Jordan sneakers

Scarabia

Kalim Al Asim:

- VSCO girl at best, don’t lie to me now 🤡

- The only words he knows are “And I oop– sksksk.” and “Save the turtles.”

- Walks during a track meet while everyone else is running and sweating hard, the teacher doesn’t care either

- Doesn’t really do anything in gym but talks to his classmates and stands near the water fountain to refill his Hydro flask

- Wears tie dye shirts with cute scrunchies

Jamil Viper:

- That one quiet kid who everybody thinks is a serial killer but he’s actually not, I swear

- He just wants school to be over and spend the rest of his summer relaxing 😔

- Although he shouldn’t abuse his “power,” he‘ll move his hands in his pockets or backpack to make it look like he’s about to pull a weapon out.

- “Chill, I’m just grabbing a pencil.” *Everyone in the class started crying*

- Wears dark colored hoodies that intimidates people but are actually comfy

Pomefiore

Vil Schoenheit:

- The baddie popular girl 😌💅✨

- Arrives to school late with a Starbucks in hand from his local Target

- Fixes himself every 5 seconds like reapplying his lipgloss or spraying Bath and Body Works cherry blossom perfume

- Uses acrylic nails and long hair extensions as weapons during a cat fight

- Wears a crop top with ripped jeans and those clout sunglasses

Rook Hunt:

- That creepy guy in the hallways who tries to get your attention, even if you don’t know him

- Scares people when he says, “Ayo, where my hug at?” 🥶💯

- Uses at least 10 cans of Axe body spray a week after gym class, which stinks up the locker rooms

- Waves at you if he passes your class, even walking into the room just to say hi

- Wears literally anything but always include a hat

Epel Felmier:

- The artist girl who just wants to be alone 🧑‍🎨

- Purposely draws in front of you but pretends like you’re not looking

- If you complement him, he’ll just brush it off and proceeds to diss himself

- “Thanks but I’m not THAT good at drawing, teehee.” *Insert Radio Rebel face*

- Wears a hoodie or a cardigan with big pockets to put his art supplies in

Ignihyde

Idia Shroud:

- I don’t even need to tell you who he is, y’all already know ahaha 🥴

- Sneaks a whole PlayStation in his backpack so he can play with it during lunch

- Is on his phone 24/7 even in class to the point where teachers don’t care anymore

- Tries to get people into anime but only to little success

- Wears a shirt of any anime character or that damn ahegao hoodie, girl bye

Ortho Shroud:

- The nerdy kid who’s known for destroying others at many games

- Plays classics like D&D, Yugioh, Pokémon, the whole shabang

- Daily Beyblade battles during recess with everyone surrounding him, the menacing aura radiates off of him

- Will steal your things if you lose to him but gives it back a week later cuz he’s sweet 🥰

- Wears light up Sketchers shoes and those Minecraft shirts you find at Old Navy

Diasomnia

Malleus Draconia:

- The theatre kid who also goes to band practice, change my mind 👁👄👁

- Takes his role seriously when it comes to school plays and concerts, even if he gets casted as a damn tree or doesn’t go solo

- Remembers the songs and their lyrics to any musical you name, a really good singer at that too

- Plays almost every instrument, you definitely know this since you can hear him down the hallways during a test

- Wears a white button up shirt, black pants with fancy dress shoes, and top it all off with a fricking Rolex watch

Lilia Vanrouge:

- The weird guy who pranks people and vandalizes school property in every way possible

- If you ever get a textbook with a message that tells you to go to a certain page only for you to found a picture of a dick, yeah that was him 😒

- When using a Chromebook, he’ll leave a tab open on YouTube so when the next person uses it, pray that your ears will still work by tomorrow

- During lunch, he is a literal DEMON that mixes milk with chicken nuggets together and having the audacity to eat it too

- Wears an oversized raincoat or a windbreaker but idk wtf kind of things he has hiding underneath

Silver:

- That guy in class who consumes Monster energy drinks and falls asleep 99% of the time but somehow manages to pass the class 🤷

- Whenever he’s awake, he’ll talk to the teachers since he’s basically friends with them for some reason

- Writes his name out of boredom on any desk you sit on but in different places, sometimes around the corners or the sides

- Has a sixth sense because he’ll wake up if you try to draw on his face and if you did get something on him, it’s on sight

- Wears those colorful hoodies that zips all the way up to cover his face with a matching backpack, it’s pretty cool ngl

Sebek Zigvolt:

- That kid who literally knows everything about historical wars and will show it off during class

- Also has knowledge on weaponry, which has people questioning him but he’s just very dedicated on serving his country and people

- Knows how to fight and defend himself from a bitch since he spent his summer at a military boot camp, put respect on my man’s name 😤

- Honestly a great partner for a group project, actually does the given work but not the whole thing for you

- Wears anything that has camo pattern and chunky combat boots

I only made this because me and my friends were talking about our school memories so yeah. This is based from my experience so they might not be exactly accurate. Might even be a part two if you want.