#but its been half an hour and ive gotten together as many new words as there already was with two rewrites of the opening lol

[the-kipsabian]

important update

i finally have chapter 3 of immortal fears moving

[cdroloisms]

uhhhh ,, , hi ??

i feel bad bc i havent been here in. LITERALLY forever lmao - hope you guys r all doing good!! ive been working on some stuff but it’s been pretty slow going, and school is also A Thing, so i definitely havent been writing as much as i’d like. 

as an apology, have this? really self-indulgent feel-good syndicate + c!dream centric oneshot bc i felt like writing this so u know. why not. 

tws: implied torture, abuse, self-harm, disordered eating, starvation mentions, prison arc themes - overall everything’s just blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mentions, not too much angst here for once! c!sam and c!quackity critical, sorry guys but we r still in the prison arc and they still r on their “fuck human rights” arcs. 

Dream leaves.

 It’s a surprise - or maybe it isn’t one, Niki isn’t quite sure. She’d never grown to quite trust the man, she knows, and she can’t really tell if the bitter twist of emotion that swells up her chest when Phil comes to her city with the news is betrayal or resignation - what can she say. She’s gotten more than her fair share of broken promises. They don’t exactly faze her anymore. 

 None of them seem all that surprised, save Techno, who entirely fails to hide the worry that flickers over his face when he calls the Syndicate meeting to officially inform them of what’s going on. She shares quick, careful glances with the other members when his back is turned - despite how many times he’s been burned, Techno still seems so adamant at holding onto every thread, trusting all too easily those who would use and leave him behind without a second glance. He can handle himself, she knows. Still, that’s not going to stop her from slapping Dream upside the head for being yet another worthless person to betray her friend’s forgiving nature. 

 Nothing much changes in the next few weeks. Niki has to admit, it’s strange without Dream around - he’d not been an ally, much less a friend before dipping completely, but he had been some sort of constant - and Niki is self aware enough to know that she misses him, a little, the same sort of way you might miss an old routine once it’s gone, if only for the familiarity. She still visits Techno and Phil with various baked goods, knowing that Phil would have his hands full just keeping Techno from running himself ragged - makes sure to check on Ranboo, whose nerves have inevitably returned with Dream’s disappearance. To be honest, she doesn’t worry as much as he does - ally or not, she’s spent enough time with the Dream that had left prison to expect that he won’t exactly be able to get himself very far should he come for the four of them, and doesn’t particularly care about he might pull with the rest of the server - if things get bad, she’s sure Phil and Techno will have it handled. She asks Phil, once, what happened, and he shrugs. 

 “I don’t know, mate,” he heaves a chest to the side, pulling out a stack of stone blocks that Niki gladly holds for him. “One day we woke up and he was just- gone. Everything. Was like he wasn’t ever there at all.” 

 Niki hums. “Why’d you think he’d do something like that?” 

 “If I could understand half of why Dream does what he does, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?” He smiles at her from behind a crate. “Shall we bring these things upstairs and start on dinner?” 

 Niki laughs, knowing that the conversation about Dream is over. “Of course, Phil.” 

Dinner is a welcome distraction; all of them have gotten better at cooking in recent months, between her baking and the veritable library of recipes Phil knows that she’s never even heard of, but Phil is still the only one she really trusts to hold his own behind the stove - Ranboo is still a little too nervous around water, and fire, and much of everything, and though Techno can be a perfectly capable cook, he’s been distracted as of late. She has a strong feeling that left to his own devices, he’d just grab a stack of steak and disappear for another few weeks, searching the server for information. 

 Honestly, she’s a little thrown off by his behavior - he’d not done anything like this with Tommy, if she remembers right, and had hardly seemed affected by Wilbur’s betrayal on the Sixteenth at all (then again, she was a little too lost in her own head to notice if he was.) She tosses her head over to ask Phil, who’s leaning over a few carrots he’s slicing to throw into the stew he’s making, and the man pauses, frowns. 

 “From what I know,” he starts, words slow, careful, “they’d spent three months in there together, and the conditions weren’t exactly- stellar. According to what Techno said, I’d assumed they had come to some sort of understanding.” He goes back to the carrots, expression dipping into shadow and out of sight. “Guess I was wrong.” 

 Niki hums. She can see it, sort of - spending months together with someone, no matter how insufferable, probably would end with some degree of attachment - she thinks back to plotting through sleepless nights with Jack, anger and grief leaving them simmering, crabs in the same pot of boiling water, remembers looking into his dead-eyed gaze and seeing her own stare back - and feels a brief pang of guilt. Besides, Techno is Techno. She’d never met someone so willing to forgive, understand, reach out despite everything that’s happened - for Dream to take advantage of that feels almost too obvious. Of course he would - what were they all thinking?

 “He’s Dream,” she says as if that explains everything, flipping open the oven door and feeling a wave of heat blast her face. Phil hums lowly, understanding. “I hope Techno will be alright.” 

 “He’s tough,” Phil cracks a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “And he has us on his side. He’ll get through.” 

 Niki opens her mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by the front door slamming open. Outside their quaint little cottage, the wind howls - it sounds like the beginning of a blizzard out there, flurries painting the world in a thick blanket of white. In the door, Techno strides into the entrance with loud, decisive movements, shutting the door loud enough to make the walls shake. Inadvertently, Niki finds her eyes drawn to the small pile of snow that he’s tracked into the house - Techno’s usually so careful to kick it all off on the porch, never liked it much when there was a pile of melting ice and snow dampening the floorboards and soaking into his shoes. He huffs harshly, stripping off a snow-dusted scarf from his face - a long, multicolored abomination that had been the product of her attempting to teach Ranboo how to knit. Phil has reached his side, hands splayed over his upper arms, eyes soft in the corners from concern. 

 “Techno, mate-” his tone is chiding but his movements gentle as he brushes snow off of Techno’s signature cloak, “you’ve gotten snow everywhere. What were you doing, dueling a blizzard?” 

 Techno shakes his head, not meeting Phil’s banter as usual, fur sticking up from the snow melted into it. His voice is gruff and holds little humor - unconsciously, Niki feels her shoulders tense. 

 “Phil, call a Syndicate meeting.”

 ---

 Phil, per usual, is unrelenting, so it’s not until a quick dinner and some hurried messages to their final member later that the Syndicate is gathered in their meeting room, Techno pacing the length of the room as they wait in their respective seats. He looks less frazzled than he did when he first entered the house, in part due to Phil’s sitting him down to eat and picking through his fur to smooth it out of its windblown spikes and tangles - Techno had grumbled at him to stop preening him, but looked a lot more relaxed by the time they were all finished with their food. Still, his ear flicks periodically, twitching toward ssome sound that Niki can’t hear, movements tighter and jerkier than she is used to. He’d always been a little flightier after the prison, but not quite like this - everything here feels like that but dialed up to eleven. Inexplicably, it reminds her of Dream. 

 “Techno?” Phil gestures towards his seat, prompting, and he settles into it with an obliging huff. 

 “Y’know, Phil, the code names are kinda pointless if we never use ‘em,” he says, words carrying no real heat - he looks back at the rest of them, lips thinning into a line. “Anyway. I called this meeting because I found a couple leads on Dream.” 

 “O-oh,” Ranboo stutters, tail lashing behind him. 

 “You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, mate,” Phil reminds him gently, a sentiment that Niki affirms with a determined nod. 

 “There’ve been some reports- rumors, really,” Techno says, calling their attention again, and they all turn towards him, “of increased activity around the prison again. The Warden spending more time on its grounds, movement seen around the walls and around the portal- so I decided to go check it out for myself.” 

 Niki frowns, and watches as Phil does the same beside her - Techno had seemed to avoid the prison if he could help it, save for when he went on the initial mission to break Dream out. It was no secret to them that he didn’t exactly like the place. 

 “We could’ve helped if you asked,” Phil reminds him, and Techno shakes his head. 

 “I know, Phil. It’s just- that place is bad news. I’d rather keep you guys away from there if I can-” his hand goes to his head with a poorly hidden wince. “Sorry, Chat’s a little- worked up, at the minute.” 

 “Sorry, we’ll stop interrupting you,” Niki says, cutting off Phil before he says anything else. “So you went to the prison?” 

 Techno takes a second to gather his thoughts, mumbling quietly in the way that usually means he’s telling off Chat. “Right- I decided to stake out the portal. The rumors were right- Sam has been hanging around there, entered and left the prison four times yesterday. And today-” he hesitates, expression visibly darkening. “This morning, about an hour after the Warden arrived, Quackity came to the prison and went through the portal. He left the grounds about six hours later.” 

 “Quackity?” Niki frowns, eyes flicking over to how Phil has stilled in his seat. “What is Quackity doing at the prison?” 

 Phil ignores her question, reaching towards Techno, something indiscernible in his gaze. “Mate…”

 “He smelled of blood when he left,” Techno says, words sharp, and Niki feels her heart skip a beat. “Warden left about half an hour after, and I came back here.” 

 Ranboo clears his throat, sounding tentative. “Okay,” he drums his hand on the table when they turn towards him, eyebrows drawn, “but what, exactly, does this have to do with, uh, Dream?” 

 Techno and Phil trade glances, one of their bouts of unspoken conversation that Niki’s grown extremely used to. They seem strangely hesitant, she notes internally, Phil looking towards Techno with a question written clearly in the planes of his face. Techno sighs, a long puff of air through his lips as he closes his eyes and turns his face towards the table. 

 “You know how Dream was- injured,” he starts slowly, looking back up at them. Niki shifts uncomfortably - of course she noticed, it was impossible not to - if not the bandages that peeked under his sleeves and the cuffs of his pants, then how skinny he’d been, all skin and bones curled up uncomfortably in a pile at the corner of Techno’s couch. She’d not know the extent, by any means, and had always assumed that they’d been self-inflicted - she’d been in a bad enough place on her own before to know how your head can make you want to hurt, sometimes, how eating food can feel like choking on sawdust and the world could feel so much smaller when focused into delicate pricks of pain. Phil’s eyes are trained on Techno - on his face, then on the pinkish raised skin of a still-healing scar along his forearm, and she feels understanding settle like a rock in her gut. 

 “The Warden had apparently been lettin’ Quackity into the cell to torture Dream for the revive book,” Techno trails off, eyes narrowed and seemingly fixed on a random point of the opposite wall. “By the time I go there, it’d been goin’ on for months.”

 “But wait,” Ranboo’s tail moves even more erratically behind him, “You mean you think he’s back- there? How?” 

 “He has to be back in the prison,” Techno points out. “I can’t imagine anyone besides him that the two of them are goin’ to just start torturin’- Sam had been iffy about the whole thing when Quackity started in on me. It has to be Dream in there again.” 

 “But how did he get in there, then?” Ranboo asks, visibly confused. “Last time it took the entire server to lock him up!”

 “There were no signs of a struggle,” Niki points out, matter of fact. “I believe you, Techno, but I don’t really know how they managed to drag him back so easily. I can’t imagine he was jumping at the chance to go back in there.” 

 Techno shakes his head with an uneasy sigh. 

 “I have a feelin’ of what might’ve happened,” he says quietly. “And I really hope that I’m wrong and he’s less of an idiot than I think he is.” 

 ---

 They set out to investigate - and maybe attack - the next day, Techno and Phil taking on the bulk of preparations as Ranboo stays behind. He’d been understandably uneasy about the whole mission, so they’d left him back by the Syndicate room to set off their pearls in case anything went wrong. (“By the end of the day,” Techno had said, giving Phil a look with the corner of his lip quirked upwards, “don’t be like Phil here and think I meant the end of the month, alright?”) They’d all be supplied with armor and weapons, thanks to Phil, but she’d been handed the bulk of their potions, arranged neatly in her inventory by type in case they’d be needed. She lingers in the back of the room as Phil and Techno chat amiably over the sound of making last minute repairs on their armor, listens to Techno’s ceaseless reminders for Phil to be careful, watches as they make sure that their stasis chambers are properly prepared should they need them.

 (She watches as Phil nudges Techno’s shoulder when he lingers behind a certain chair, empty as long as she’s been part of the Syndicate, the fountain behind it bubbling quietly without a pearl inside. Techno sighs, expression strange. 

 “Should’ve set him up with one,” he says, quiet, and Phil pats him on the back. 

 “You couldn’t have known, mate. We wanted to wait a little before telling him about the Syndicate, remember?” 

 Techno hums, noncommittal. “Still.”)

 They Nether travel to the site of Techno’s lookout, which ends up being a little shambling thing with dirt walls dug into a small hill looking towards the prison portal, having hardly enough space to fit the three of them. Phil looks at it with no small amount of apprehension, and Techno shrugs lightly, wearing an expression that makes Phil turn to him with a look that makes Niki break into giggles. Techno crosses his arms- “in my defense-” and Phil looks up at the dirt ceiling with a long-suffering sigh. 

 “You couldn’t have made this a little roomier, mate?” Phil asks, voice dry as kindling, and Techno raises his hands by his head. 

 “Hey hey, it’s discreet, it gets the job done, it’s perfectly structurally sound-” the sound of the leftmost wall crumbling, along with the cloud of dust that puffs from it and fills their tiny space, undermines the tail end of his statement and leaves him sputtering, Niki falling into another fit of quiet giggles. Underneath it all, Phil sighs again, raising his wings behind him. 

 “...these are going to take so long to clean out.” 

 To his credit, Techno looks sheepish. “Sorry, Phil.”

 They sober up quickly; Techno turns around to the opposite side of the hill, where he’s hidden some peepholes inside the dirt - Niki settles herself by one, leaning forwards to put her eye to it and catch a glimpse of the prison looming over the water. It’s been repaired since the breakout, she notes, the gaping hole in the roof completely gone and replaced with obsidian, as intimidating and undamaged as it had been before, if not more so. Phil makes a considering sound from behind her.

 “Same plan as last time?” He asks, and Techno shakes his head. 

 “They’ve probably reinforced it, and Dream’s blueprints won’t include anything new the Warden’s added. I wouldn’t be surprised if they moved Dream to a different location completely. We don’t want to draw too much attention, either, we were cutting it pretty close during the breakout.” He narrows his eyes. “I was thinking we’d try something a little stealthier, this time. “ 

 He gestures at Niki, who blinks back at him with wide eyes. 

 “You got a couple of invis potions for us?”

 She distributes the potions among them all, one regular and two splash potions of invisibility each, and Techno points towards the prison once she’s done. 

 “The most important thing is to get through the portal,” he says with a grim expression. “Worst comes to worst, once we’re inside we can always blast our way through - but gettin’ through that portal is our first priority.” 

 Phil narrows his eyes at him. “The portal is locked, though. We’ll need to follow someone else inside- and I’m pretty sure Sam uses pearls, so he’s out.” 

 Techno nods. “Which is why I’m bankin’ on the prison gettin’ another visitor today. We’ll just have to wait.” 

 Niki swallows. “Do you mean-”

 “Quackity?” Techno turns away, not quite meeting her eyes. “I’m not totally sure, but he’s not exactly the type to just give up on his goals. He’s pretty predictable- an empire needs an emperor, always needs something new to rule- you know the type,” he says, tipping his head towards Phil. “He’ll be mad at Dream for disappearin’ on him and won’t miss the opportunity to prove he has the upper hand again. I’m not sure that he’s going to come today-”

 “-but you wouldn’t really be surprised, either,” Phil finishes for him, eyes steely with cold determination. “I trust your judgement, mate. Just stay safe- from what I’ve heard, Quackity has been...erratic.” 

 “When is he not,” Techno huffs a short laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine, Phil. Just be careful, both of you. Don’t get too close. And if things get messy- which is what we’re tryin’ to avoid, by the way- then don’t do anything too risky. Our priority is gettin’ in and out alive.” 

 “We can handle ourselves, Techno,” Niki reminds him with a small smile. “And Ranboo is there in case anything goes wrong.” 

 “Alright, then. Here’s the plan.” 

 ---

 It takes quite a long time for Quackity to arrive, long minutes that Niki spends fidgeting in the corner of the room, brushing her hands over seams of the netherite plates that Phil had shoved into her hands, back at the Syndicate room. The set is inexplicably light - not weightless, by any means, as it is still netherite, but not nearly as bulky as any set of netherite armor she’s owned or seen in the past. The runes are precise, lines thin and exact, written with graceful strokes of lapis. 

 “Phil’s the best metalworker I’ve ever met,” Techno tells her with a small grin, catching her in the middle of tracing what she can make out as an Unbreaking rune along the metal strapped to her forearm. “But then again, he’s had the time to practice.” 

 “Are you calling me old again?” Phil huffs, and Techno flashes a smile her direction before looking at Phil with a slight grin. 

 “Well, Chat is,” he says, lips twitching when Phil glares back. 

 “You can’t just blame Chat every time you insult me, you little shit,” Phil groans, and Techno only grins wider. 

 “Phil, my ad revenue,” he complains, a dramatic lilt to his voice that has Niki stifling a snort, and Phil’s glare only grows deadlier. 

 “You’ll have more than your ad revenue to worry about if you keep this up,” he mumbles, going back to keep watch at one of the peepholes and stilling as he does. “Shit- Techno, Quackity’s here.” 

 Techno straightens up, hindered slightly by the low ceiling of their room. “Alright- we all know the plan, right?” 

 Niki nods in the affirmative, pulling out a splash invis and letting it settle in her hand, the glass cool beneath her fingertips. She reaches into her inventory and lets her armor fade into it, takes a deep breath and watches as the two across from her do the same. She doesn’t wear armor often, but so close to the prison, feeling mining fatigue settling deep into her bones - she’s never missed the security it offers more. Techno keeps watch, waiting- drops his arm in a signal. Now. 

 Niki throws the potion at their feet, flinching back at the sound of shattering glass and feeling its effects seep into her skin. When she opens her eyes, she can’t see anything but the inside of the room that they’d holed themselves in and the faintest of wisps rising from where their feet must be, curling around the grass. 

 (Please let this work, she begs to no one in particular as they walk towards the prison. And if you can hear me- please keep us all safe.)

 She hardly breathes as they follow Quackity across the path, holding someone’s hand in her own - Phil’s, by the feel of it - careful to muffle her footsteps in the grass and stand still whenever Quackity’s eyes come a little too close. Thankfully for them, he seems focused, hardly stopping or looking around at all as he walks towards the prison’s portal, movements stiff as he walks forward. He punches the button on the wall particularly harshly, and Sam’s voice comes crackling through a speaker a second later. 

 “I’m here for my visit,” Quackity says, punctuating the sentence with a snort of laughter that doesn’t sound particularly sincere. Niki hasn’t seen him in a long while, not after everything that happened in Pogtopia, and she feels a chill worm down her spine - this man looks nothing like the one that had laughed and danced and sung at her birthday party what feels like an eternity ago. What happened? 

 Sam sighs, the sound turning into a sharp burst of static through the speakers. “Hello Quackity,” he says, voice deep and tired. “Please step into the portal after I tell you to and then wait on the other side.” 

 “I know the drill, Sam,” Quackity rolls his eyes. “Just because the bastard was gone for a few weeks doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how this damn place works.” 

 “Just going through protocol, Quackity,” Sam replies, and something about this response has Quackity exploding into a brief fit of laughter, the sound grating against Niki’s ears. She feels her grip tighten on Phil’s hand, air caught in her throat. 

 “Protocol- ha. Whatever you wanna tell yourself, pal.” Quackity smiles, cold and cruel, and Niki tries not to think about how she’d seen that same grin on Wilbur, eyes sparkling from the light of the lanterns hung from the bridges and walls of their ravine, remember how she’d looked into them and realized her old friend wasn’t there, anymore. Quackity disappears into the portal, and after a second, the hand around her own pulls her inside of it too.

 On the other side, Quackity taps his foot impatiently, crossing his arms and waiting- Sam’s voice comes through the speakers again, words clipped. 

 “Go through the portal,” he says, and Quackity does- once again, they wait for a second for his body to disappear, then go within it themselves, pressed close enough together within its frame for Niki to feel the warmth of a wing wrap around her shoulders for a quick second before they’re out of the hot, stifling air of the Nether and into a large, neatly made lobby of blackstone and quartz. They duck into a corner, watching as Quackity moves towards the front counter, the Warden waiting there with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks- tired. His movements are slow, footsteps loud against the floor, shoulders tense and back hunched. He walks around the counter, sword strapped to his belt, and Niki feels her breath hitch at the sight of dried blood still stuck to the blade in patches and splatters.

 “He ready?” Quackity asks, holding his hands out - Niki catches a flash of metal as Sam drops something into them, watches as Quackity raises what ends up being a pair of shears, dangerous-looking and gleaming with enchants, to the light. 

 “Yes,” Sam says, side-eyeing Quackity with a small glare. “You know, it’s supposed to be your job to clean those things off when you’re done with them.”

 “I told you, busy day back in Las Nevadas yesterday,” Quackity waves a hand- “I’ll do it, alright? Don’t get all pissy now. What happened to being partners?” 

 “You said we’d be done with this months ago, Quackity,” Sam sighs, and Niki feels a light tug on her arm as Quackity and Sam begin to walk towards the wall to the right of them, breathes in slow and deep as she follows Techno and Phil towards the others. The wall yawns open with the hiss of redstone firing and pistons pulling blocks upwards, opening into a dark hallway that feels like entering the maw of some sort of giant, insatiable beast. They step inside as one, and the door shuts behind them. 

 “We’ll be done soon enough,” Quackity says, and Niki feels hairs rising on the back of her neck. “Trust me.” 

 They stalk forwards through a labyrinth of blackstone, Niki brushing the palms of her hand against her clothes when it goes clammy from adrenaline. Halfway through, she pauses to tip back a second potion of invisibility, careful to keep her movements slow and steady as not to make a sound - the liquid is silvery, cool and light on her tongue, and she lets the effects wash over her with her breath caught in her lungs before moving forward. The tunnels are simpler than she’d expected, bearing little obstacles or checkpoints - Quackity makes a wry comment a second after (“Guard tunnels today, huh? Appreciate the hustle, pal-”) that confirms her suspicions. Despite the potion particles still whirling around their bodies and the sounds of their footsteps, too loud in her own ears, they manage to make it forwards without much trouble, entering a large room with a doorway filled completely with a curtain of lava. 

 “Set your spawn,” Sam says, still stoic, and Quackity rolls his eyes again before doing as told. Niki keeps looking back at the lava flowing past the wall, its heat filling the room and making her already slick palms even worse, and Sam moves to the side to flick a lever, eyes trained on the lava slowly bubbling in front of him. 

 “Give me your tools?” Quackity asks, and Sam sighs before doing so - Niki watches as he hands over a netherite axe, then potions, then a few raw potatoes that Quackity accepts and puts into his inventory. Sam raises an eyebrow once he’s done, hand tight around the handle of his trident. 

 “You bring your own sword, today?” He asks, seeming irritated, and Quackity shrugs. 

 “Sorry pal, I need to make a new one. Guess I’m borrowing yours again.” 

 Sam sighs again, louder, and hands over his sword as well, watching as Quackity swings it a few times experimentally. The blade skims a little too close to her on one swing and she can’t quite help the squeak that escapes her lips as she throws herself out of the way, feels her heart hammer in her ears as she backs up against the wall. Please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that please don’t hear that-

 “Quackity, wait.” Sam raises a hand, ear twitching as he looks over in her direction with narrowed eyes. “I think I heard something.”

 Oh fuck.

 “Well, guess show’s up then,” Techno drawls, and both of them whirl towards his voice, giving Niki enough time to pull her armor back on, scrambling to get her sword and shield in her hands as Phil does the same besides her. Pieces of armor appear where Techno is standing, then a bucket of milk- oh, why must her friends be so dramatic- and Techno’s standing there, smiling sharply, with Orphan Obliterator held loosely at his side. “Let’s get this done, then.” 

 As one, Techno and Phil blur into action - Techno moves forward to catch the prongs of Sam’s trident on his blade as Phil parries Quackity’s blows with his own sword- they move fluidly, easily covering each other’s backs as the room devolves into chaos. Niki remembers their guidance as she flits in and out of the fight, scoring quick hits to keep the Warden and Quackity off balance while remaining out of range from their weapons, and it’s not long before both of them have fallen with a spray of items and experience orbs scattered all over the floor. 

 Techno moves over to block off the exposed face of the bed with a block, looking over at the two of them with an uncharacteristically severe expression. “They’ll be back soon- we have to move fast. Niki, you have those fire res, right?” 

 She nods as she reaches into her inventory, finding the potion’s orange-pink glow and smashing it at their feet. They dive into the lava together, Niki scrambling to keep up, her arms struggling to move through the thick lava, loses sight of both until she flails into something directly in front of her and hands are pulling her up out of the lava. 

 “There you go, mate,” Phil smiles down at her as hauls herself to her feet, making a face at the feeling of the lava clinging to her clothes. “Yeah, swimming through lava isn’t exactly fun. You good?” She flashes him a thumbs up, and he laughs- “Niki, you’re still invisible.” She flushes pink- right.

 A few sips of milk later, she gives him a proper thumbs up, and he laughs, loud and bright. She looks past him to where Techno’s crouched over something- someone, she realizes with a start, in the corner. Dream’s back in prison clothes, ragged and ill-fitting, and he’s curled up with his back towards the front of the cell, shaking enough to be obvious even from where she’s standing. Techno speaks lowly, voice barely more than a deep rumble in the air, almost inaudible.

 “You there, Dream?” 

 She watches as Dream turns his head, looking up with wide, bleary eyes. His hair flops in front of his face, and something within her itches to brush it out of the way. “T-Techno?”

 “Yeah nerd, who else?” Techno smiles, and Dream seems to blink awake, drawing himself up with a shuddery breath. 

 “Techno- it’s a trap- what are you doing here?” he hisses, and Techno gives him a look, deadpan.

 “Yeah, yeah, it’s a trap- come on, Dream, we’ve been over this by now, bro. You have to know that their traps aren’t goin’ to do anything to me by now,” Techno rolls his eyes, reaching forward to steady his hands on Dream’s shoulders when the other man sputters and struggles to breathe. “Easy, now. Geez, you wanted to prove me wrong about being homeless bad enough that you came back here? We could’ve just made you a house, you know. You didn’t have to go this far.” 

 “I- they were gonna kill you,” Dream breathes, face twisted up uncomfortably, and his eyes flick past Techno’s face to where Phil and Niki are standing at the opposite wall of the cell. “All of you- they said-”

 “And that’s what I thought you’d say,” Techno groans. “Come on, you idiot, I thought you were smarter than this-” 

 “They were right there, Techno!” Dream fires back, eyes alight. “You- they were right there, what were you thinking, they could’ve-!”

 “And my best friend is a necromancer, remember?” Techno shakes his head. “Come on, Dream- Sam and Quackity? You know we can handle them in a fight, especially when you can just revive us if anything goes wrong. You don’t have to do this whole self-sacrifice thing, bro- there’s only so many times I can break into the same prison, y’know.” 

 “You’re so stupid,” Dream huffs, but he leans in anyway, head just barely settling against Techno’s shoulder. “I- I can’t believe. You’re so dumb.” 

 “Hey, don’t be sayin’ that to the guy that’s breakin’ you out of prison,” Techno laughs, slinging Dream over his shoulder with an easy motion and laughing harder when it makes him yelp. “That’s just bein’ ungrateful. You’re making Chat sad, man, and when they’re sad they don’t subscribe-” 

 “I regret this entirely,” Dream says, voice muffled against Techno’s shirt, tone completely flat. “Put me down- you idiot- I’m staying here. You’re worse than Quackity.” 

 “Rude. Now you’ve really made Chat mad. I demand an apology-” 

 “Boys, boys.” Niki can’t help giggling, watching the way their gazes snap towards her, rolling her eyes as she moves forward with a few potions held loosely in her hand. “Dream, do you want a health pot?” 

 Dream seems to deliberate for a second, before nodding at her, expression slightly strained. “...sure.” 

 “You two can finish your argument after we’ve broken out of the biggest maximum security prison on the server,” Phil drawls from behind her, arms crossed at his chest. “Come on, now, before Sam gets back.” 

 “Isn’t this the only maximum security prison on the server?” Techno asks aloud, an amused expression on his face - one that only gets worse when Phil glares at him with one ice-blue eye. 

 “Shut-” he sighs, shaking his head. “You two are chaotic little shits, you know that?”

 “Don’t compare me to him, Phil,” Techno complains, Dream mirroring his words with muffled protests of his own, and Phil breathes another drawn-out, long-suffering sigh as he rubs at the bridge of his nose. 

 “Niki, give us some fire res please?” 

 She finds the potion bottle between giggles, throwing it to the ground as she tries to choke down the laughter rapidly bubbling up her throat. “Of course, Phil.” 

 She looks back at Techno and Dream before jumping into the lava, the two of them once again lost in some sort of argument, Dream draped over Techno’s shoulder. He’s breathing easier now, she notes, and Techno looks looser too - a little less tense, leaning back with a perpetual quirk to the corner of his lip as they fire insults back and forth. This is familiar, she recognizes with a soft twist in her chest, the same way that Phil and Techno can finish each other’s sentences and look at each other with laughing eyes sharing the same memories of the past, the same way Ranboo watches Techno’s every step as he adjusts his stance and lifts his sword and Techno laughs and calls him a main character in turn, the same way she and Phil will settle together on the porch over cups of tea and sit at each other’s sides for hours. The rhythm between them is one well-established, the road well-worn - she imagines them, huddled in this dingy cell for months together, and breathes in slow and deep. 

 “Come on,” she smiles, making sure to keep it on her face when Dream meets her eyes with wide, startled ones of his own. Dream still isn’t an ally, and isn’t a friend. 

 But - she watches as he smiles back, something inexplicably warm in her chest - maybe, one day, he could be.

[burnedbyshoto]

spiral

— Honestly, what could go wrong when you’re lusting over your close friend and you’re locked in a box with only one way to get out? Well, not a lot, honestly.

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pairing: kaibara sen x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, gloryhole, dirty talk, praise, fingering, sexual tension, reader is a pervert, quirk use during sex (spinning cock lol)

word count: 2,695

a/n: this is the second gloryhole fic ive written, but its completely different from the last time because its like not a cult fic LMAO!!! anyways, I think yall basic shouto and bakugou stans could do well to stan this class 1-b man because when I tell you he is another deviation of the two of them personality wise.... I mean it! 

day 5 main kink: gloryhole

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If you had known precisely what you had just gotten yourself into right now three hours ago, you would have laughed at yourself. Without a doubt, there was no questioning that the predicament you had concealed yourself in was one that would bring you great shame once this wall was gone, but for now, you would deal with it.

At the bitter age of twenty, having graduated from the hero department over in Shiketsu High, you had been almost shocked when you were reached out upon by the graduating class over at Yuuei, to come and join their agency. You had accepted it with caution, unsure if you could live a life paycheck to paycheck that was as new as they come. But, it was a decision you would come to never regret.

Or at least, not until right now. 

You had been on patrol with your coworker turned friend, Kaibara Sen, hero name: Spiral.

His quirk was an interesting one. A quirk that allowed him to gyrate -- spin -- every limb and ligament on his body. It caused some pretty asshole moves in close combat that not only stung with the piercing metal on his gloves but also sent you flying away. Countless amounts of times, you had pinned him only to spun around like a spinning top and slammed back into the practice mats.

You hated it.

Or well, you hated his quirk in a sensical way (note: do not attempt to beat him through a crowd, he always wins). In the nonsensical, coming of age brain of yours that had been for the most part silenced due to Shiketsu’s no-dating-policy, but as you grew fond of your coworker, frequent workout buddy and sparring partner, you couldn’t help but wonder just if… well… if he could spin his cock.

You would be lying if you said you had never imagined what it could feel like. You wondered if his cock was curved, or if it was straight. Would the veins be prominent? Too many times, when watching quirk-plot porn videos, you found your mind lingering onto his ability, which leads you to scream into a pillow, your hormones both skyrocketing and plummeting in your horror. 

You weren’t a perv, you like to remind yourself as you changed into your hero costume. It was merely a rational, human thought! Humans were curious beings, after all! Sure, Kaibara was attractive, and his voice was… so low, deep, and raspy that sometimes you would try to – NOPE NOT A PERV!

Blazing hot cheeks drummed in time with your hammering heart as you finished dressing, hoping to get out and clear your mind with helping out the community as a hero! You were a hero!

Not a perv!

Nodding to yourself in the mirror located in your designated locker, you slammed it close and left.

Unfortunately for you, or fortunately, Kaibara was already dressed in his costume and waved at you in greeting as you approached him.

“Afternoon.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up!” you flustered, your back stiffening as you continued to stomp ahead, readying to leave the stupid agency and get your afternoon rounds done. 

You weren’t a pervert!

With three years since graduating from high school, three years of this agency having been founded, and three years of becoming friends with the esteemed and infamous class 1-A and 1-B from Yuuei, you had learned one thing for sure. This group of Yuuei students seemed to attract the worse kind of trouble like a moth to a lamp.

Without a doubt, you knew that was the reason why you had Kaibara somehow ended up in this horrible, ridiculous quirk from a child that just so happened to manifest their quirk out in the open. And of course, it would be the most humiliating shit to ever happen in the entire world of quirk apparitions.

“Uh, the mother said it’s probably the father’s quirk!” came the apologetic, nearing frantic voice of Deku from outside the steel box both you and Kaibara were trapped in. 

You couldn’t even see Kaibara’s face, and the perv in you screamed over the lack of even having his body pressed against yours! No! Nothing! As a matter of fact, there was a divider between you and Kaibara, a giant wall with a hole near your crotch area.

“I can’t believe you idiots got yourselves trapped in this!” came the amused, annoyed, and somehow antagonizing voice of Ground Zero. 

“Shut up!” you screamed back. “They looked at us, and it happened! It’s not like we touched the kid!”

“Y/h/n,” Kaibara’s voice sighed, and you felt your face ignite at the sighful tone on his raspy, deep voice. You pouted at the slight scold in his manner and felt yourself looking down in shame as he continued. “Don’t argue with Ground Zero. Hey, Deku, how we get out of this?”

The both of you were silent for some time, the outside world quiet as you waited for an answer.

“Oh, um, I don’t think you’re going to like it…” Deku’s voice laughed awkwardly from outside the box, and you frowned.

“Just tell us.”

“I-It’s uh… it’s a quirk called Gloryhole!” Deku squeaked, and just as you knew the successful and well-recognized pro hero outside of this box was undoubtedly red in the face, you felt your already warm face turn into an inferno. “I-I-It’s exactly… ohmygod!”

“The shitnerd is apparently a fucking perv and can’t finish his stupid sentence. Anyways, this quirk only works on shits like you with unresolved sexual tension and only removes after you use it,” Ground Zero’s voice barked from outside the walls.

“KACCHAN!”

“Shut up, Deku!” Ground Zero fired right back, and you could feel your body trembling at the news. Oh no, your perverted mind finally caught up to you in the worst of ways?! Although he did say unresolved sexual tension, that could totally be onesided, right? “We’ll be back in an hour, get it done, or fucking else.”

They left you, and you realized that despite your panicking pitched breathes, there was no noise coming from Kaibara’s side.

Oh no, this was all your fault! 

Oh no, oh no, oh no!

“You, uh,” Kaibara spoke softly, and you felt your hands clutch onto the fabric above your breasts. “You have unresolved sexual tension with me?”

“No,” you denied immediately, your forehead crashing against the barrier between you and Kaibara at the blatant, stupid lie. “Yes. Ugh, I do, but that wasn’t something I was planning on telling you!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s embarrassing? What was I supposed to say when you pin me against mats during sparring sessions? ‘Hey, Kaibara, does your cock also spin? If so, can you fuck me with it?’”

You slap your hand across your mouth, eyes going wide in your panicked embarrassment. That mouth of yours was genuinely going to get your tongue cut off or lips sewn together one day.

It’s silent for a bit, but there’s a sound of clothes ruffling. The rate of your heartbeat seemed to increase exponentially as you saw something shift from the view you had of the Gloryhole. “Well, if you want to find out, I’ll be more than willing to give you a demonstration.”

The pervert you may or not be did not hesitate to respond back.

“Please?”

And you watched as his shadowed figure approached the hole, and a pink-headed cock pushed through the hole into your side. You watched with a gaping jaw at the still-growing cock before you. Without a doubt, it was more than seven inches and was glorious, gravity defyingly curved upwards. It was proud as it was thick, and you watched as the underneath of his cock scraped across the bottom.

A soft grunt strangled in his throat at the cold, rough sensation, and you watched a small, glistening bead of pre-cum appear from the slit on his head. You’re not sure how quickly you dropped to your knees, but you did know that your mouth took him on completely. Within the first drop of your mouth on his cock, you enveloped at least half of his cock in your mouth. A loud bang hit the wall, and you felt a warmth in your chest, knowing that you had already affected him.

Your lips and mouth glided against his length, your tongue pressing and lapping at the underneath of the head of his cock, trying to cock to become as hard as it could be, because it was still growing. A particular needy, near sloppy suck of yours, sent a loud, dizzying guttural noise from Kaibara’s side. A noise that sent liquid heat spilling into your cunt as your hand gripped the base of his cock, bobbing your head slowly, as leisurely as you would allow yourself.

His taste was indescribable, faint yet had you licking his length for more, trying to cover your tongue in his pre-cum. 

But the issue with a proud curving upwards cock, was that you found it awkward to choke yourself down his impossibly stubborn curve as he began to thrust his hips to meet your mouth and travel into your throat. Grunt, gasps, and growls seemed to be growing in volume and repetition on his side of the wall as you relaxed your throat, chokes, and gags sounding wet and sloppy on your side. 

“Fuck, just like that, wait up,” Kaibara moaned, a thud coming straight above your own head, letting you know that he had pressed his head against the wall. The thumping of his hips on the wall was slowly becoming musical, white noise as you bobbed your head further along his length, throat vibrating with your need to make him feel good. And the weirdest, most surprised splutter came from your throat as his cock spun in direction.

Once curved upwards, making it nearly impossible in the space to take his cock all the way down your throat, was now downcurved. It stretched your jaw out entirely as he didn’t bother to pull away to do it, and your throat stretched out in a way you had never experienced before as you coughed and staggered against his length. But, it was a pain that made your clit throb and allowed his cock to go even further down your throat.

You did what you could only do once your throat stopped hurting, and the sheer pleasure of having your throat stretched out in a more desirably wait set in: you moaned.

It was a long, pitchy noise that you swore you could feel against the steel wall that your free hand supported you against. Your toes curled at the way his intensely thrusting hips faltered for a moment, undoubtedly turned on by your noise if the twitch in his cock said anything about it. You moaned again, and again, and again. You continued to do so against his snapping hips until Kaibara was practically snarling your name with the intention and muttered promises of what he would do to you once the barrier was gone. 

Your mind was gone at the point, the promises of fucking you against the window of his apartment that overlooked the Tokyo skyline had you shoving the pants off your hero costume down. Your hand on his cock tightening in its grip, but the one manipulating your pants off, sunk into your cunt, thumb on your clit. 

A mewl left your lips as you began to play with your wet heat, and you drove your mouth and head closer to the hole, enthusiastically taking him in further and further. 

“Imma fuck you so good when we get fucking out of here,” Kaibara promised, teeth undoubtedly pulled into a snarl, his thrusting in bizarre speeds as you tried to keep some piece of sanity as you continued to finger fuck yourself, all too pleased with him absolutely using your mouth. But, you registered his words just well enough to respond back, choking an agreeing noise as you bobbed your head enthusiastically. “Had I known you just wanted that slutty pussy of yours to be fucked, I would’ve done this with you ages ago. Would’ve pinned you down on that mat, and claimed your cunt as my prize.” Your eyes rolling back in your hormone-induced euphoria, your own dirty fantasies having played that scene in your mind countless times. “I want to hear you choke on my cock more, I want to hear the saliva and drool leaving your mouth. I know you’re fucking your cunt, so do it well enough you’re moaning like a paid prostitute. I promise you, I’ll make sure you never want to see another cock again that isn’t mine!”

A choking, hiccuped, and wet breath expelled from your mouth, and you hadn’t even realized you were crying at the moment. But, you agreed, head bobbing in your agreement.

And so, it continued. 

You pushed forward, his length reaching new depths of your throat until you had your nose smashed against the metal, cold wall. Your throat manipulatively squeezing and milking his throbbing cock, tongue, and teeth rubbing against his protruding veins until Kaibara was stuttering out your broken first name. 

The wet noises of his saliva drenched cock meeting your drooling throat and mouth grew louder with every slap, and you wanted more. You needed more.

“Fuck, y/n, you take me s-so fucking good. I think you have me entirely in your mouth like the fucking little pervert you are,” Kaibara hotly laughed, a soft thudding from near your chin sending your mind in a feral daze of how it was probably his balls. “Doing so well with my directions, you really do deserve to be fucked properly after this.”

A low, lewd whine strangled from your throat, your hot, swollen lips sucking harshly against the base of his cock as he continues drilling, and the melodic moans from his mouth made it all worth the fact your lips and nose are starting to tingle from the sufficient lack of oxygen. But it’s also your curling, pumping fingers in your cunt that add onto the headrush you get, the slick and essence coating and dripping from your pounding fingers send you into a series of keen and mewls against his cock. And you can perfectly find each sweet little pleasure spot. 

You were close, and by the consistent twitching and throbbing of his cock and the thick coating of precum on your tongue, Kaibara was too.

With your impending orgasm, you felt your body begin to tense up, shaking, and moaning with the tipping sensation you loved. And Kaibara, entirely lost in his own passionate, horny endeavors, shook as he slammed into you again, again, and again.

With a fiery determination, your cheeks hollowed out on his length as he pulled out, a resonating “fuck!” screamed from his lips as your tongue swiped at the salty silt on his cock, and it was all over.

You came on your fingers with a loud, pitchy scream, and thick, hot ropes of cum spurted from his cock onto your awaiting mouth, dirtying your face slightly in his heavy ejaculation. Swallowing the cum, a shiver ran down your spine as you quickly cleaned the remaining cum on his cock. Slowly, you removed the fingers in your cunt, and you shuddered at the pulsating heat form your core as you dropped to the floor as his soft cock disappeared from the hole. 

Laughing softly, you looked up at the ceiling of the box that was slowly disappearing, allowing fresh air to enter the sex smelling box.

“So, how about dinner?” Kaibara asked, and you chuckled, running a hand through your abused face.

“I don’t think I’m hungry.”

“No?”

“You might’ve proved you can spiral your cock,” you began, turning your head to look at Kaibara, who was collapsed on the floor, barely put together as the two of you locked eyes. “But I still would like to try it out for real while you properly fuck me. After that, if I’m hungry for food, I’d love to go for dinner.”

He laughed, his hand running through his sweaty locks.

“Sounds like a deal to me.”

[missjackil]

My 15x20 Opinion (The SPN Finale)

Carry On

It’s taken me a few days to write this, because I’m an emotional wreck. I still cant wrap my head around the fact that the show is over, and in such a permentant way. I’m not exagerating when I say, it feels like someone I love in real life  died. In 2001 I lost my best friend since I was 7 (I was 34 at the time) and in 2011 I lost the love of my life, in 2018 I lost my Dad. This feels the same, and as with the others, it has its own unique pain. Personal just to me and how does my ife change because of it. So please forgive me in advance for periods of silence I may have, as well as days where I don’t shut up. This grief is real.

Anyway, about the episode, the first half was wonerful! Domestic Winchesters is one of my favorite things! Dean snuggling Miracle could not get any cuter, and half naked, fresh from the shower Sam couldnt get any hotter! Teeth brushing, bed making, laundry doing *sigh* what more can a fan girl ask for? Oh yeah!! Sam smushing pie in Dean’s face!! God I love these two!

My anxiety built as the boys went on their hunt. I new this would be where shit hit the fan, but I wasn’t prepared for the level of shock I experienced. When the Vamp got Sam down and Dean wasn’t watching, I was sure this would be where Sam gets mortally wounded and we get the epic, emotional death scene, which would surely be followed by Dean going into a rage, losing his shit on the rest of the vamps and getting himself killed in the process, but that’s not how it went. When Dean backed into the rebar I just screamed “NOOOOOOO!! NO NO NO NO!!!”  I wasn’t ready for Sam to be the survivor and I was NOT ready for how deeply painful Dean’s death scene would be. Im nowhere near over it yet. I started sobbing, and didn’t stop for the next 2 hours.

Sam’s grief was devistating, I felt all of it. J2 acted their asses off and from what they’d said, they had broken character at times and what we got was real. When Sam got a phone call for a case and he took the dog with him, looked around the bunker and shut all the lights off, I knew he wasnt coming back. 

Switch over to Dean in Heaven with Bobby, explaining that Jack fixed it so Heaven is open now, no private worlds, everyone could move around freely. This stung a little bit, thinking it kind of negated Sam and Dean’s Heaven, but it does’t really. The fact that it had been acknowledged that Heaven had been separate worlds, shows me they didn’t forget, and this is why now everyone can be together.

Dean said it was :”almost perfect” and Bobby knew why and said “He’ll be along” knowing Dean wont truly be happy without Sam. Then Dean took a drive  in Baby, he didn’t go see mom and dad, he didnt go find Cas, he went to a bridge to wait patiently for Sam.

Now we flash back over to Sam. When I saw him with a kid, my heart sunk. They’re gonna ruin what was absolutey beautiful so far by Sam living a happy life with Eileen and their kid!! But, that’s not really how it was, was it? There was no emphisis at all on Eileen or even if it was her he ended up with, or even how much a part of Sam and Dean Jr’s life she was. It was always just Sam and Dean Jr. When elder Sam went in the garage and uncovered Baby and just sat in her and cried, I knew he may be happy with his boy but his life is empty without his brother. 15, 20 years later, Sam still grieves. Finally, Sam is an old man, bed ridden and on machines, still wearing Dean’s watch, and he sheds one last tear as Dean Jr lets him go. 

Ok to me, Sam didn’t get “A long happy normal life” after Dean died. Sam existed because he promised Dean he would, but he was miserable without him. What’s that line from Red Meat we all love? “After everything we survived together, I watched the man I love die. There’s no normal after that” So, this to me was no slap in the Winchester face, this is poor Sam suffering from 6 mos old till the moment he died as a sick old man.

Flash back over to Dean. still waiting on that bridge and without even turning around, a smile spreads accross his face ... he’s finally here! “Hiya Sam” and there he is, just the way Dean remembered him, not a sick old man. Sam smiles and just says “Dean” and we have the best and happiest brohug ever!! The break and walk to the rail to look out over Heaven. Dean’s arm atill around Sam, he looks at him with such adoration. and his expression couldn’t be mistaken for anything else besides “Now, it’s perfect” and my boys are together safe and at peace for eternity.....The End.

This finale wasn;t what I wanted per se, though I ultimately wanted the boys together in the end and I got that, so I am abundantly grateful, knowing how many BAD ways this could have gone. Ultimately I would have liked an end like the end of 15x19, where theyre alive to fight another day and drive into the sunset, or to retire and have their toes in the sand somewhere. Or even drive off a cliff together, hand in hand, but I wouldnt have gotten than raw excruciating display of pure unbreakable love. “I love you so much... my little brother” is the best thing Ive ever heard. Their heads pressed together was the most touching thing Ive ever seen. So Im grateful. 

After gnawing on it, thinking, and allowing some time to pass, Im gonna say I loved the ending. It wasn’t perfect but Im satisfied. It took a long time to get to “Now it’s perfect” which I will take with me as the last words of the show (even though they technically were never spoken) but it was worth the journey. 

So on a scale of Bloodlines to Lebanon, Ill give Carry on a 10. Thank you Dabb for drowning me in bro love, and thank you J2 for kicking it in the ass and pouring your heart and souls into it. 

Rest in Peace boys. I love you both so very much.💔😭💕

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream III

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 4, 559

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything; It would make sense, she supposes, if looking at her also feels like this for him, like her heart beats in time with every breath he takes and like time slows or stalls or...like every minute here is infinitely longer and in these moments… in these moments, she thinks that the world must somehow tilt on its axis because she feels...i feel you comin' down like honey, do do you even know i'm alive?, do do you even know i, i... she feels… (Read below or on the AO3 link on the chapter title.)

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Chapter VII: I'm in Love with You

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Anything

Maybe I should kill my inhibition

Maybe I'll be perfect in a new dimension

On the Saturday the week after Barry’s impromptu visit, Iris finds herself down on Main Street about half an hour after 10 in the morning. Nearly the entire 8 blocks of the street are sectioned off, with a plethora of white tents set up on both sides of the street. She glances on as she makes her way down the sidewalk, as people set up books and jewelry and clothes; beer and wine and harder liquor; food and sweets and other treats.

It’s the setup for Central City’s Fall Fest, one of a multitude of fests in the city that Iris calls home. It’ll be open to the public in a few hours and, like usual, Iris will make her way up and down the blocks a few times, holding a beer in one hand and something fried on a stick in the other, a couple of bags filled with things she doesn’t need in the crook of her elbow.

Now, though, she steps into the alley that leads to the side door of Golden’s, an Asian and American fusion restaurant and bar owned by the parents of her best friend, Linda Park. She gives a heavy-handed couple of knocks and only moments later, Linda opens the door to let her in.

Iris first met the other women when they were in the 7th grade. Iris’s parents had divorced several months prior to a new school year and for reasons not then known to Iris, her dad had gotten full custody of her and six-year-old Wally. They’d moved into a new house on the other side of town and that had meant a new school for her. Linda had sat beside her in their homeroom/advisory class and the girl with beige skin and long dark brown hair was constantly scribbling something in a notebook. Iris had discovered that they’d been stories, usually with families as the starring characters. By then, Iris had begun to write in her own notebook—musings and wonderings about the neighbors she’d just met, about what it meant to be the oldest child of divorced parents. They’d bonded over their writing; well, that and being two of only a handful of girls at the school with skin darker than the pale and spray-tanned skin of their classmates.

For over a decade, it’s been Iris and Linda. Through the messy stages of puberty and their even messier interactions with high school boys; through late-night study binges and even worse interactions with college boys. Through the drug addiction that took Iris’s mom and the car crash that had put Linda’s older brother on life support until he’d succumbed to his own injuries, they’ve navigated it all together.

Now, life gets in the way. Linda, almost immediately after undergrad graduation, had begun shopping around a number of short stories and personal essays she had written until, finally, a publisher had bit and opted to publish them as an anthology. A few years and too many nights spent locked in a room later and Linda’s book is a New York Times bestseller. Iris’s own success story is pending. In addition to completing her graduate degree (which, at 26, she’d started late, after taking some time off and working at a local newspaper), she runs a blog, one she’d started by accident. Her middle school musings had become pointed interviews and, with the classes she’d taken in college, had gotten the necessary skills to begin writing up her own human interest stories. It’s amazing, she’s learned, what people will tell you when they can hide behind the face of someone else. What a Life You’ve Lived is growing in popularity, making some money too, and it’s starting to become more than just a hobby for Iris.

Neither Iris nor Linda is ever truly free; but in a concentrated effort to make time, they brunch at least twice a month. This morning, it’s at Golden’s (where Linda is working as a bartender while she writes her next book) because her parents want them to try out new menu items. When the door shuts behind them, Linda turns and gives Iris a hug, wrapping her arms around her neck. Iris returns it, smiling into her hair, her familiar lavender scent a warm comfort she didn’t know she needed.

“I’ve missed your beautiful face,” Linda says, squeezing her hard once before letting her go.

“Yeah?” Iris asks, mouth lifting in a smirk. “Is it because you’re tired of looking at Daniel’s beautiful face?”

Linda rolls her eyes. “Never, though I’d rather put my eye out before I tell him that.”

Linda has been dating her boyfriend Daniel Ngyuen, nerdy engineer and man ridiculously head over heels for her, for a few months, after they met at a book signing hosted by Linda’s parents.

“You’re ridiculous,” Iris tells her, and Linda preens in response.

Something in Iris tightens, a faint film of green clouding her view for all of a millisecond. She’s ashamed she even had the thought, that she feels anything but happiness at the light in her friend’s chocolate brown eyes or the glow in her cheeks. She’s not jealous of Linda, of course she’s not. But Iris can’t help but find some envy at the feeling of contentment that so obviously surrounds her friend and the juxtaposition of her own drifting existence.

It’s almost tangible, these differences, at least to her. Iris can see the confidence practically emanating from Linda’s dress-clad form, the long-sleeved maxi dress and tall sandals, her wavy shoulder-length hair, making her look a little like a goddess. But Iris imagines that’s what it must look like, to be at the start of a career you’ve always wanted, to have the love of a man you’re secure in, to just...know your place, your purpose.

And maybe Iris is being dramatic. She supposes she looks as put together as she’s always thought she needed to be in her light denim jeans, pale pink cropped sweater, and tan block-heeled sandals. She’s been wearing her natural hair out this week and the wavy curls are piled up in an artfully messy bun. Still, even if Iris can’t touch on why she feels so scattered, like all of the pieces that make up the whole of her are floating aimlessly around her body, she cannot deny that the feeling is there, taking up space in her head like the songs she latches on to keep focused, maybe I should pray a little harder, or work a little smarter.

They walk through the restaurant, bustling with the waitstaff preparing for the 11 am opening. Golden’s isn’t an overly large place, only able to fit about 50 people at a time, but Iris thinks it’s a part of the charm. It’s decorated in dark brown wood and bright white and gold light fixtures; the tables and booths are spread out in a way that allows for privacy, making customers feel as if they’re in their own little worlds.

Linda leads them to their usual table, one actually tucked into a little alcove where only the Parks and their guests are allowed to sit. At the table, there’s already a carafe of juice too close to red-pink to be orange juice, along with a bottle of champagne. Outside of the wine and marijuana Friday nights and the occasional party or club, Iris only really indulges in alcohol when she and Linda have these brunches. They slide into the booth and Linda immediately reaches for the champagne.

Over the next couple of hours, Iris is reminded of why, regardless of her own issues, she loves his woman. They laugh, sharing stories of Iris’s students and the customers who come into Golden’s. They get on each other’s nerves, making jokes and ribbing the other any chance they get. At one point, Linda’s parents come out, her honey-skinned Chinese mother Xuan and her dad Theo, Chinese and white with skin like baked sugar cookies, and Iris blinks adoringly up at the both of them, always lost in their beauty—both tall and elegant with ridiculous cheekbones.

“It’s sickening,” Linda mutters as she watches Iris watch them walk away, “how you look at them.”

“I’ve had a crush on your parents for as long as I’ve known them,” Iris replies. “If they ever want a thre-”

“Don’t you finish that fucking statement,” Linda gripes and Iris howls in laughter until Linda points out the attractiveness of Iris’s own father. “You know I’d always hop on the chance to be your stepmom.”

“And I’d happily sabotage your wedding day.”

“But it’d be worth it when I got to climb on top of Daddy West during the honeymoon.”

Iris throws a strawberry at her.

She hears him before she sees him. She’s been at Fall Fest for only about twenty minutes after leaving Golden’s, full and tipsy, walking through the steadily filling streets. Of all of the festivals in Central City, of which there are several (seasonal fests like the Fall and Spring fests; food fests like the Food Truck and Italian Food fests; cultural fests like the Juneteenth and Hispanic Heritage fests), the Fall Fest is one of her favorites. It’s during the best time of the year, when the sun is still blazing but the wind cuts through the heat. When the leaves have begun to drift off trees and dance onto the ground, changing into the shades of yellow and orange and red that only nature can paint. When the booths run the gamut in what they sell, from cooked and packaged foodstuffs, to clothes and jewelry, to dance or golf lessons. It’s the one festival, besides the Pan-African Celebration, that their entire family would attend, even for a few years after the divorce. Her parents would take off work and put aside their differences to spend time together--until Wally had felt too old and her dad had needed too many more work hours and her mom had gotten too lost; and then Iris had started coming with Linda and then, this year, alone.

But she doesn’t dwell—she tries not to dwell these days—and besides, she’s just heard him.

He doesn’t sound any different in the light of the day. In her head, she keeps hearing him as he is in the throes of passion, when his voice is more of a throaty curse, when it’s a rumble against her heated flesh. Here, out here with children screaming from their blocked-off sections and ladies laughing as they smell through candle selections and men arguing from the faux sports bars set up at random tents, he should sound like anyone else. He shouldn’t even be heard over the music coming from the speakers they can’t see—down for the ride, down for the ride; you could take me anywhere; do do do down for the ride, down for the ride; you could take me anywhere; i hope you will, I hope you will, I hope you will—or the sheer noise that’s true for events like this. But he is.

She looks up, ignoring the woman still trying to convince her to buy a bottle or three of perfume, and she sees him, right at the booth beside hers. He’s with two other men, one shorter with light brown skin and dark brown eyes and black hair pulled back in a ponytail; the other only a bit taller than the friend, with skin darker than Iris’s, glasses, and a short afro. Iris vaguely thinks that the three of them together are some sort of setup for a bar joke. They’re dressed similarly, in pants and t-shirts, though Iris’s eyes catch onto Barry’s hunter green chinos and white shirt, the beige pocket square matching his desert boots. All three of them have relatively full beers in their hands and Iris is looking at the cup in Barry’s hand (or rather, his fingers wrapped around the cup) for about three seconds before it jerks, beer spilling out. She looks up to find he’s looking back at her too, muttering “Iris,” in surprise.

She watches her hand and smiles back at him, a bit awkwardly, stepping away from the booth where the woman has already moved on to a new customer.

“Hi Barry,” she responds, walking over to them. She spares a glance at the other two, the Black man looking at her curiously, the Latino man a bit more humorously. “Fancy seeing you here.”

It’s not her smoothest line, but Iris thinks she might be in shock. When he’d left her, again, before she woke up on Saturday morning, she’d found his number written in tiny handwriting on the notepad on her desk, the unimaginative “call me” scribbled beneath it. She hadn’t. She’d thought about; oh had she.

On Monday, she’d debated calling him up to grab a coffee during her break. On Wednesday, she’d gotten an email about a new story and she’d wondered, for a moment, what he might think about it. But then she’d thought of his sweet mouth telling her “I wanted to know if it was as good as my memory,” and she had decided that he likely wouldn’t care about her days.

Now, he gives her a thorough once-over, probably remembering, and Iris feels a flush of heat run through her that she knows has very little to do with the warm late September sun.

“Iris,” he says again, his voice a touch higher than normal. His companions look at each other, eyebrows raised.

“Iris,” the long-haired one repeats, laughter coloring his tone. “I’m Cisco.”

“And I’m Chester,” says the one with dark skin, and they both stand there looking at her, grinning like loons until Barry cuts in.

“Alright, stop being weird.”

They don’t. Barry rolls his eyes and pushes past them to stand in front of her. Even with the heels she’s wearing, she has to stretch her neck a little to look up at him.

“Hey,” he says, this time lower, a soft breeze on her skin.

“Hi,” she repeats, just as softly.

The sounds of the carnival don’t disappear so much as they become muted, such as if she were submerged in water or if there was a rushing in her ears, because everything becomes background noise save for the concentrated sound of his voice.

“You didn’t call,” he says to her.

“I—” she starts, but she’s got nothing to say, not anything that won’t make her sound needy or desperate.

“Hey Barry,” Cisco calls.

“Yeah?” Barry answers, but he doesn’t turn away from her. No, he’s looking at her still, assessing her almost. He’s trying to figure something out, she decides, or at least that’s how it seems, what with the way he stares so intently, blue-green eyes pouring into her, bringing up images of them staring up at her from between her thighs, bringing out impressions that feel like more than lust, like more than just two people who’ve only ever bared their bodies to each other.

“We’re gonna go to another tent,” Chester says. “Catch up with you later.”

“Alright,” is the reply, those eyes glittering like the sea in the afternoon sun, still fixed on her. There’s a slight frown to his mouth, and when he speaks again, she can’t tell if he’s reached his conclusion or not.

“Walk with me?”

She nods before she even thinks about it. “Sure.”

They start back down the path. The booths are in abundance this year; it’s a bigger festival than she’s seen before. For a while, they don’t talk. They walk side by side, arms brushing every so often, stopping at booths that catch their attention. For him is a booth with a variety of multi-piece puzzles, some featuring landscapes and gardens, others of the solar system or space. For her, it’s one selling notebooks, beautiful leather-bound journals. She stops, enthralled, picking up one in coral-colored leather with rose-gold edging.

“We can also engrave the name,” the sun-tanned woman with pale blonde hair behind the tent says. “Or you can order custom colors.”

Iris nods, murmurs, “these are really nice,” and continues flipping through the heavy cream paper in the coral notebook. These days, much of her writing gets done on her overused Macbook; it’s just easier that way. But when she writes, for herself—little anecdotes about her day, her feelings spelled out in poetry—she does so in notebooks like these.

“You’re a writer,” Barry wonders and it’s a statement as much as it’s a question.

“Yeah.” She looks up at him and nods. “I’m actually getting my master’s in journalism.”

She puts the journal down once she notes the $40 price tag and thanks the woman as they walk off, Iris looking back at the notebook with longing.

“I also run a blog,” she tells him, and the words tumbling out of her mouth are a shock.

“Really?” he looks at her in surprise. “What’s the site? Is it popular?”

It’s not like she’s embarrassed of her blog or anything, but it feels different, to tell people she knows about her work. Because it’s one thing for strangers to read what she types out in earnest, and in tears and in vulnerability, but it’s something altogether different for people she knows to do the same. They aren’t her stories, not actually, but they are always her words, always her emotions she puts into them, and it feels too, too telling somehow.

“It’s growing in popularity,” she tells him, because she’s the one who opened this can of worms. “It’s called What a Life You’ve Lived.”

He hums, like that means something to him, but before she can ask what, two kids come barreling through the aisle. Iris tries to step out of the way and she slips, her heel catching in a small crack in the asphalt. Her knees buckle, but before she can hit the ground, Barry’s arms are around her. One of his large hands holds onto her, pressed against the bare skin of her belly, and then she’s pressed fully against him.

It’s absurd how much she likes the feel of him—the slim but corded muscles in his arms, the apparent strength in his fingers; and she likes the smell of him too, the faint hint of his laundry detergent mixed with the heat of the sun mixed with the citrus of his cologne. It’s another moment (™), which doesn’t make sense because he’s only just caught her from falling. But he’s looking at her like there is more in her gaze besides the brown of her irises, the flutter of her lashes. It would make sense, she supposes, if looking at her also feels like this for him, like her heart beats in time with every breath he takes and like time slows or stalls or...like every minute here is infinitely longer and in these moments… in these moments, she thinks that the world must somehow tilt on its axis because she feels...i feel you comin' down like honey, do do you even know i'm alive?, do do you even know i, i...she feels…

“Are you alright?”

Barry’s voice is quiet, too quiet for the energy they’re surrounded by. And maybe she doesn’t even hear it as she does read the movement of his pink mouth.

“Yeah, I am.”

He straightens, then, and gives her a half-smile. “You know, Iris, if you wanted to fall all over me, you could have just called.”

He likely had been trying for levity, but it’s pointed, right there at the end. She steps away from him and he lets her, his fingers sliding along the small of her back until they’re no longer on her skin. It leaves her cold

(only that can’t be true, because it’s far too warm out)

and she watches as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“I was waiting on your call, Iris.”

They've moved into a corner where the direction of the festival booths turn right. Straight ahead of them is a 21+ section; it features a stage where performances will begin around 5 as well as a number of makeshift bar stations. There’s a similar set-up with kid-friendly activities on the other side of the festival. Barry’s friends are standing at one of the bar stations talking to two women, both with chestnut-brown skin and long kinky hair. Iris’s eyes shift to take in the rest of her surroundings, to the sound of people laughing and the couples holding hands and the families who seem elated to be together on a day like today.

When she turns back, Barry is patiently watching her, head tilted to the side, expression thoughtful, like it always tends to be.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” Barry suggests “We can walk around some more. And once we get sun-tired, I can take you to this spot that I like nearby and we can talk. Maybe about why you didn’t call.”

She licks her lips, pulls the bottom one between her teeth. She hedges, long enough to tell herself that this would be a foolish endeavor, that she should just say no, that he’s nice and cute and what harm would it do. But, really, when he asks, those cyan eyes gleaming and his cheeks faintly pink and his face so goddamn hopeful it almost makes her look away, she really has no other choice.

“Okay, sure.”

She doesn’t tell him why she doesn’t call.

What she does is tell him about her dad and how she’s always been in awe of him, of his grace and his strength and the lessons he’d taught her. She tells him about Wally, who’s brilliant and searching, trying to figure out his way (not unlike her, though this she doesn’t say). She tells him about Linda, her sister in all of the ways that count, who’s always with her, even when she isn’t. And when he asks, because of course he does, she tells him about her mother who was beautiful and kind, all the way until sickness took her away.

She tells him this because he tells her first, about a larger-than-life father whose proximity to wrong-doing bureaucrats had landed him in prison, and an easy-going mother whose life had ended because someone else had been desperate for the money in her purse.

They do indeed walk around ‘til they’re tired, until around 6. Then Barry takes her to a little American bistro where they pride themselves on grass-fed meats and homegrown vegetables. They devour burgers the size of their heads and a mountain of fries that deserve their own table. He stuffs her with food and a piece of pie after, and he asks her some questions. He wants to know her favorite color and the television show she’s currently watching and if she’s always wanted to be a writer: yellow and Bridgerton and only since her parents’ divorce, when she’d needed to know that hers was only a unique story—or maybe she had needed confirmation that it wasn’t. She wonders about his dream job, his favorite hobby, the one thing he wishes he could do: forensic scientist, which he is, amateur theater, and getting his dad out of prison. That opens up a space for more convolution than should be allowed on a first date, and so she asks him more about amateur theater.

After, he walks her back to where her car is parked past Golden’s. When they get there, he listens for the sound of her car alarm, and then he turns her around, pressing her back against her car door. He walks closer, a hand at her waist, the other reaching up to cup the back of her neck, thumb circling lightly around her throat.

“Thank you for dinner,” she whispers. “I had a really nice time.”

“Yeah?” His mouth ticks up, that half-smile that is somehow both charming and a little bit maddening. “Enough that I might get a kiss?”

She tilts her head as if in thought, even as she gives in to her desire to touch him too, reaching up to finger at the faint moles dotting her cheeks. She only barely nods her acquiescence when he closes whatever distance is left and kisses her. Iris is always surprised by how warm his mouth is, by how sweet he tastes. He tastes like the apple pie they had earlier, but also like early sunset coffee on cool fall mornings and like how slow sex in the middle of the night feels.

He’s gentle in some ways, his mouth moving slow against hers, his tongue licking into her mouth like he’s trying to find life inside of her. But he’s a little rough too, squeezing at her waist so he won’t fondle her in the middle of the street, tightening his hold on her throat, only a little, but enough that Iris begins to feel the action in the throb of her sex. They kiss, eyes closed, her own fingers scratching at the nape of his neck, her hips thrusting against his in time to the flick of his tongue across her bottom lip, until she feels the swell of his dick against her belly and her loud moan tears him away from her.

“Fuck Iris,” he all but growls, licking his lips as he looks her over, a little wrecked. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it, playing with the soft strands of his hair, until she notices it’s all messy, matching the state of his swollen mouth, his wrinkled skirt, the heavy dent in the center of his pants. She wonders what she looks like.

“Get in the car, baby.”

Wide-eyed at the endearment outside of sex, Iris does as he tells her to, sliding in and buckling up before he closes the door. When the purr of her engine starts, he motions for her to roll her window down. She does, waiting as he plants his elbow on top of the car, bending his lean frame down so that his face is level with her.

He smiles softly at her. “Go out with me next Sunday.”

She bites at her lip, if only to give herself another moment to breathe. Because this date would be moving beyond a two-night stand, beyond an impromptu date, far beyond kissing on the side of the street.

“What time on Sunday?”

“Early afternoon,” he says and leans in even closer. “I’ll pick you up.”

She nods before she can talk herself out of it, even if she knows that she should. Barry motions for her with a crook of one of his long fingers, and it makes her think of what’s been playing in her head, of down for the ride, down for the ride; you can take me anywhere, and when she comes to, he places a sweet kiss on her mouth.

“I’ll see you next week,” he says, pulling away slowly.

And then Iris watches him—his strong and assured walk, his compelling and commanding aura—until she can’t see him anymore.

Do do do down for the ride, down for the ride

You could take me anywhere

I hope you will, I hope you will, I hope you will

[lizzy-bennet]

The Symbolism of Owls Fandom: Doctor Who Pairing: Whouffaldi Length: 2,300 words Rating: G   Also on Ao3

“This is new,” the Doctor says, staring at the ceramic owl on Clara’s bookshelf. “It is. You don’t like it?” ”It looks very cross.” “It looks like you.” “Ha ha ha,” he says dryly, the words coming out in sharp little Scottish staccatos. “Your wit is sparkling, Miss Oswald.” Or: At some point, Clara starts collecting owls. She’s trying not to think of the symbolism there. (She’s kidding herself. She’s an English teacher. Of course she thinks about it.)

It starts at a department store. It’s Tuesday afternoon and it’s raining, and it’s all quiet and quite unremarkable as Clara makes her way through the store, picking up items she needs: New ankle boots (to replace the ones she lost after a rather unfortunate incident on Kalvinan IV involving space squirrels and sentient quick sand), an area rug (to cover the scorch marks left on her living room carpet after that little sonic fire that happened last Wednesday - she’s so not getting her flat’s deposit back), and a wine rack (because she realized somewhere in between escaping alien rodents and putting out the Doctor-induced fire in her flat, that she really needed to start keeping alcohol on hand.) It’s as Clara’s walking past the home decorating section and wondering if the TARDIS can age wine that she spots it, sitting on a shelf right at the level of her eyes: A small, white ceramic owl. The expression molded on its little glossy face is adorably odd and comically cross, with sculpted feather tufts that nearly look like furrowed eyebrows, and if Clara squints, she can almost imagine it staring down it’s pointed beak and advising her not to be lasagna. Unable to help herself, Clara steps closer and picks it up, carefully running her fingers over it’s ceramic feathers before tapping the tip of its beak and smiling to herself. It looks funny and grumpy and it doesn’t go with her normal taste in decor or anything else she owns, and she really shouldn’t like it so much, but she does. She loves it. Clara tries not to think too much about the symbolism there as she plops the little owl in her basket and heads to the register. (She’s kidding herself. She’s an English teacher. Of course she thinks about the symbolism. She buys the owl anyway.) # When Clara walks into her flat after work the next day, she finds the Doctor already there, standing by her bookshelf and staring down unblinkingly at the new ceramic owl that’s currently propping up several classic novels (treasured classic novels, she might add, since they contain autographs and personalized messages to one Miss Clara Oswald even though all the authors had been dead decades before she’d even been born). “You can blink, you know,” Clara says, slipping her bag off her shoulder. “It’s just a regular statue, not a Weeping Angel owl. I checked.” Slowly, the Doctor swivels his head to send her a disdainful look over his shoulder. The resemblance between him and the statue is quite uncanny, really. “Weeping Angel, no,” he says. “Alien, possibly.” “Excuse me?” He shrugs, “Some owls are alien.” “What do you mean owls are aliens?” “They can turn their head nearly two-hundred-and-seventy degrees, why do you sound so surprised?” He says, sticking his hands in the pockets of his velvet coat, and looking for all the world like he has a pair of elegantly folded wings. “And I didn’t say all owls are alien. I said some owls are alien.” “The best owls are alien.” He blinks at her, looking suspicious, and then he shifts his shoulders, looking much like a bird ruffling it’s feathers. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” “Not smiling,” Clara says dismissively, as she’s definitely smiling. “So, where are you going to take me today?” # The next owl Clara obtains is a teeny tiny little plastic one. She’s much too old for toys, she knows, but this owl has silver feathers and bright blue eyes, and she just couldn’t resist it when she saw it sitting in a plastic toy bin next to the register. (Yes, again, she’s an English teacher. She knows there’s a comparison to be made there, thank you very much. She’d just been trying not to read too much into it when she bought it.) And one day, when the Doctor nips off to the TARDIS swimming pool to check on the carnivorous goldfish he’s keeping there until he can take it safely back to its aquatic planet, Clara takes the grey plastic owl out of her purse and places it gently on the TARDIS console. She supposes that it’s a bit like how one might put a bobble-head dog on their car’s dashboard, but Clara thinks that, just this once, the great space and time machine won’t mind. “I think it looks like him,” Clara admits, looking up. “Don’t you?” The TARDIS’ console flashes bright blue at her words and then burbles something that sounds like whirring laughter. Apparently, she agrees. (“I keep moving that thing and the TARDIS keeps putting it back,” the Doctor grouses at Clara a week-and-a-half later, when the plastic owl is still sitting prettily on the console. “Why is she doing that?” Clara shrugs. “Guess we both have a soft spot for angry owls.”) # Clara sits at her vanity, finishing getting ready to go...somewhere. (The Doctor hasn’t quite explained where he’s taking her yet, but he suggested it has something to do with Sontarans and space Vegas, a combination that Clara finds both frightening and fascinating.) And while she’s fixing her hair and fastening on her watch, the Doctor’s meandering about her bedroom, flipping through the stack of books on her bedside table and fiddling with the assortment of items on her dresser. He scans her fish tank (finding that the fish are, rather disappointingly, from a PetCo on this planet and aren't anything remotely alien), sniffs at her perfume bottle (it’s hard to tell, but Clara thinks he likes the scent), mutters at a miniature of Newton’s Cradle (probably, Clara thinks idly, something about him being there the day it was invented), and it’s just when Clara’s opening her jewelry box that she hears him harumph. It’s a very disapproving harrumph. It sounds all displeased and Scottish. Clara glances up in the mirror, and watches as his reflection wrinkles his nose at her new throw-pillow sewn in the shape of an owl’s face. “This is new,” he says. “It is. You don’t like it?” ”It looks cross. It’s a very cross pillow.” “It looks like you.” “Ha ha ha,” he says dryly, the words coming out in sharp little Scottish staccatos. “Your wit is sparkling, Miss Oswald.” “Oh, I know it is,” she says. “Here, hook the necklace clasp for me, will you?” ”Yes, boss.” # It is three o’clock in the morning and Clara Oswald is staring straight up at her ceiling, mind reeling, not sleeping, because eight hours before, she had a fight with the Doctor. She hates fighting with the Doctor. Even when he’s definitely in the wrong and even when she’s truly mad and even when he really says things he shouldn’t and crosses the line. (If there is a line. It’s gotten hard to tell lately, where boundaries lie, if there are even any in their lives anymore.) It’s as Clara’s thinking this that she hears an oh so familiar whir and the TARDIS begins to materialize right in the middle of her bedroom, its deep blue beaming in and out of focus. See? This is what she means by questioning if their relationship has any boundaries anymore. As it is, Clara’s not even really surprised to see the TARDIS. He’s turned up in her bedroom in the middle of the night enough times before. (She realizes, shortly after thinking that sentence, exactly how that sounds, and she has to shake herself several times to stop thinking about it.) Clara’s got a robe on and is standing up, arms crossed, by the time the Doctor steps out. (Or steps in? Never mind, it’s three in the morning and she’s too tired for proper space-dimensional wording, even if she is an English teacher.) He blinks at her robe, then past her to the sky out her window, and says, “So not seven o’clock then.” “Three o’clock.” “Ah. Well, when you take all of time and space into consideration, being four hours early is still pretty good parallel parking.” Clara sighs, rubs her temples, “Doctor, what are you doing in my bedroom at three in the morning.” “It was supposed to be seven.” “Doctor.” He sends her a look that suggests he’s suitably miffed as well as chastised, and then gingerly, he reaches into his pocket, and cups something in his hands, and then, hands still cupped awkwardly, he deposits the something in her palms. The room is still dark, save for the pale star-white glow from the TARDIS, so it takes Clara a moment to see what the Doctor’s given her, but slowly, her eyes adjust to the dim light, and she realizes she’s holding a delicate painted porcelain owl. She stares at it, stunned, and together, they stand in silence in the pale half-light for a minute. “You like owls,” the Doctor says matter-of-factly, breaking the silence. “So I got you one. From seventeen-eight-one. Or two. It was hard to tell.” “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” (And this is why they have no boundaries, Clara thinks. Because at the end of the day, he’s the one person in the entire universe who truly knows her; knows her intimately, horribly well, and no matter how many times they may break apart, they’ll always come back together, because yes, he’s the type of man who’ll drive her mad but he’s also the type of man who has all of time and space at the tips of his fingers and yet uses his time machine to come to her flat to apologize by way of a knickknack.) “I love owls,” Clara says very quietly. (The Doctor stares at her, like he understands her words must mean something, but he can’t tell what. He thinks, maybe, that it means he’s forgiven. And he’s not wrong, even if he is missing the larger meaning behind her words.) Clara bites back a smile and ducks her head, studying the tiny porcelain trinket in her hands and when she turns it over, she blinks at the royal-looking French inscription and says, “Wait, the seventeen-eighties? Doctor, did you take this from the Palace of Versailles?” “Er, well, I was there ironing out something with a Slitheen. Kind of pocketed it. I don’t think Marie will mind.” # Clara’s collection only grows from there. A braided owl fob she picked up to put her house keys on. A plush owl she won from a claw machine in nineteen-eighty-four after fighting off an alien in an arcade. A blown-glass paperweight she picked up from a book shop. A set of owl-printed oven mits she unfortunately burned after a failed soufflé. Because, yes, she loves owls and by now she’s learned how to live with the symbolism. (Especially when she’s living in the space between one heartbeat and the next.) # It is Tuesday (or, well, it’s Tuesday somewhere), and Clara Oswald is winding her way through an alien bazaar. She doesn’t look a day over thirty, but she’s well over three-hundred. (How far over three-hundred, she doesn’t quite know. You lose track of silly little things like ages and years when you’re spending your time spinning out across the stars, saving planets and cheating death.) Clara’s only there for things she needs: a change of clothes (hers got a bit burnt after saving that colony on Axmis from the fire trials), goggles to use when repairing her TARDIS’ circuits (she’ll never admit it, but she talks to her old girl as much as the Doctor talked to his), and a new barstool for her ‘diner’ (she’s been missing one ever since she broke the old one over a Dalek. It’s a long story.) But then she spots it, in the stall selling antiques, sitting on a stack of crates right at the level of her eye: A small, white ceramic owl. It’s old and weathered, its paint is scratched and its horns are cracked, but it looks exactly like the very first owl she got, so, so, so many years ago. (For all Clara knows it’s the very same owl. For all she knows, after her death on Trap Street, the ceramic owl and her other belongings were packed up and donated and put in a thrift shop and bought as gifts and eventually passed on in wills as antiques until they now sit, some hundreds of years later, miles and miles and miles away from Earth, on an alien planet, simply waiting for her to find them again. Stranger things have happened. She’s proof of that.) Carefully, Clara picks the owl up, smiling at its glowering beak and the grumpy look in its eyes. (By now he’d have a different face, she knows. But she also knows that thanks to the wonders of time travel, the owlish version of him she knows and loves is still somewhere out there, right now, right this very minute. And maybe, there’s a version of her with that version of him. The thought is comforting.) “It’s a very old antique,” the alien vendor tells her as she runs her fingers over the carved feathers. “Made in the form of some Earthen creature.” “It’s an owl,” Clara tells them, handing over her currency. “An owl,” the vendor repeats, carefully rolling the odd word over its blue tongue. “What’s an owl?” Clara smiles, holds the ceramic close, and she thinks. She thinks of the shade of his eyes and the sound of his voice and the rare curve of his smile and the way he made her laugh, and she is over three-hundred years-old but she’s still an English teacher and she’s still very much aware of the deeper meaning behind the owl and the literary device she’s using as she smiles and says: “It’s something wonderful.”

[web-of-fics]

Worlds Away

Requested by @spaghetittiesbcimgay : hey! could i get something with our boy peter with a really smart reader?? who’s an intern at nasa or smth? and is obsessed with her instruments (guitar, bass, etc) and also space? (can you tell i’m projecting?) idk if this would be wayy to specific (if it is, totally leave out the last bit!! :) ) and i have no idea where to go from there but ive been dying for some peter x smart!reader sooo.. thank u so much in advance xx

Summary: You and Peter Parker are two of the smartest kids at Midtown High. So why are you both completely clueless at the fact you both have massive crushes on each other? 

Words: 1391

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Obviously Midtown was full of students with extraordinary smarts and subsequent extraordinary internships because of it. Naturally, Peter had gotten a lot of attention when word spread that he’d swung (no pun intended) an internship with Tony STARK. The superhero hype around the school was real even months later. And after news broke about aliens visiting earth and all that a couple years ago, every hyper intelligent teenager’s hopes were directed on working with space tech: protection or exploration, it didn’t matter. But that was mainly Tony’s domain now and the world knew it, so Midtown’s students scrambled to find prestigious positions in other areas. 

When you got accepted to intern as a research assistant for NASA, you immediately shared the news with a few close friends. And they were, of course, absolutely stoked for you. They were also huge blabbermouths so by the time everyone returned to school that Monday, the entire grade knew. Jealousy emitted from them like the energy of an exploding star. But unlike a star, the only visible evidence were the side-eye glares and slight shaking of the heads in disbelief. If you could read minds, they would be a mix of chatter saying: ‘why does SHE get to work for NASA?’ ‘I’m twice as smart as her—that should be my job’ ‘I bet she paid her way in—they’re not even accepting interns in the middle of the school year’ ‘she’s two years younger than me! I need that internship more than she does!’ Etcetera.

But not everyone was so green. Peter Parker, for example, was over the moon (still no pun intended) when you told him. He was also your number one suspect for blabbing. At least with him and his big mouth, you knew it was from a place of pride rather than an attempt to spread gossip. As if anyone went to Peter Parker for gossip. Maybe that was part of the reason you found him so appealing. 

“If they send you to space will you let me know?” He said earnestly. You just laughed.

“I’m doing research, not training to be an astronaut. I don’t have the physical endurance!”

“But you’re smart enough to engineer a spaceship.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not on my own.”

“Still!”

“They’re not sending me to space and I’m not engineering a spaceship for other people to go to space,” you laughed.

“Well what are they not paying you for then?” he pressed.

“I’m joining the student research team that assesses alien remnants from the battle of New York to help find ways to improve our own space technology. NASA’s actually working closely with Mr. Stark on a lot of it--I’m sure he’d tell you more...”

You stopped talking at the awestruck expression on Peter’s face. He leaned forward.

“No way,” he gushed. “Mr. Stark didn’t tell me any of that. Wow, you sounded really smart just then.” He paused, thinking. “This is gonna be awesome for you, y/n!” he beamed, sounding just as enthused as you felt. 

“I know!”

“When do you start?”

“Not for a few weeks.”

“Good,” Peter said. 

You raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, I--I’m going to miss being able to hang out with you and stuff when you’re off doing space stuff.”

“Well, I won’t actually be in space at any point, so we should be good,” you smiled. 

“Well, you’re definitely smart enough to go to space, so when you do eventually end up on a spaceship--” Peter held up a finger to cut off your objections before you could open your mouth. “--You could entertain your fellow astronauts with some tunes.” Peter mimed an air guitar. 

“Shut up,” you laughed, swatting at his arm. “I think a theremin would be a better soundtrack for outer space anyway. Acoustic guitars have college-student-on-the-quad vibes.” 

“Not when you play.”

“Okay Peter,” you rolled your eyes, flattered but embarrassed by his persistence. “I’ll show up on the first day of my internship with a guitar slung on my back and ask if they’d prefer the sounds of Brian May or John Mayer.” 

“Perfect,” Peter said without a hint of sarcasm behind his smile. You blushed.

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After school that day, Peter came by your house as usual so you could work on homework together. You asked him once why he preferred to work at your place—not that you minded whatsoever, but you became curious after picking up on the pattern—and he said because your place was more “stimulating” than his. Stimulating! You had laughed so hard that his confusion had circled around until he worried he’d said something offensive.

“Stimulating? Really?” you had said after composing yourself.

“Well, yeah,” he’d replied. “You have all these cool instruments and your whole room looks like space.”

As you both entered it now, you bypassed the light switch and plugged in the strand of white Christmas lights that encircled the ceiling. Instantly the room was bathed in a soothing glow. You weren’t allowed to paint your walls black ("But it would look so much more like space, mom!”) so you’d ordered four giant tapestries with different galaxies on them and hung one on each wall. A sun-shaped lamp rested on your nightstand. It was one of those sunrise lamps that woke you up by gradually getting brighter in the morning to mimic the elusive wintertime sunrise. Your precious string instruments—an acoustic guitar (Gary) and electric bass (Lily)—stood opposite your bed. You couldn’t think of a better definition of a safe space. 

And now school felt like worlds away. Minus the fact Peter was here with you  to do homework.

Peter assumed his usual position in the bean bag chair furthest from the door. You collapsed into yours, closest to your instruments. A long ottoman served as a makeshift desk for you both to dump your school materials.

But today you both melted into the cushions without moving to open your backpacks, abandoned at your sides.

Peter--usually a ball of energy that would lead you to believe he was a puppy in a former life--closed his eyes and laid his head back. It had been an especially long week. 

Without giving it a second thought, you leaned sideways and removed Gary from its stand. Humming a little, your fingers grazed the guitar strings until the notes strung into the beginning of one of your favorite songs. 

After you finished you looked up and spotted Peter watching you. Of course you’d known he was there, but you’d half expected him to drift off before the first chorus. Your face burned.

His forehead creased. “Was that ‘Here Comes The Sun’?”

You lit up. “Yeah! You listen to The Beatles?”

Peter nodded, feeling confident. “John Legend is the best.”

You stifled a giggle. “Yep,” you said. You had an unreasonably strong urge to hug him. 

You hesitated, not sure if you wanted to stop playing or continue. 

“Can I hear another?” Peter said after a moment, making the decision for you. 

“Sure,” you said, suddenly feeling shy. “What do you want to hear?”

“Anything.”

“Okay,” you steadied your breathing. Deciding to stick with the space theme, you strummed the beginning chords to Muse’s ‘Starlight’ and sang along quietly, losing yourself to your music and completely missing the infatuated grin that found its way onto Peter’s face as he got lost in thought: 

Not only was he hanging out in the coolest bedroom he’d ever seen, he got to spend it with the coolest and smartest person he knew. He wanted to spend as many hours with you as he could, even though you would probably have a lot less free time once you started the internship. But until then, he would enjoy every moment he could. Like this one. 

And who knows, maybe one day space travel would be a regular thing and then you could both hang out on the moon together for real and get away from it all. Peter could listen to you play guitar and sing random songs all day. He might even tell you how he really felt about you once he built up enough courage.

But Peter realized those possibilities were still worlds away. And right now, his world was sitting across from him, humming like a windchime that told him he was home.

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Just one more before bed? Click here for a masterlist of my fics!

[unholyhelbig]

Bellmare | Chapter One

Ship: Beca Mitchell/ Aubrey Posen 

Read on Ao3 here 

Summery:  Aubrey Posen is used to the brutal cold of the city- so after an attempt is made on her life and she has to forcibly relocate to a small southern town seemingly stuck in the 1950s, she's surprised to stumble upon a new case, and an annoying clingy FBI agent who she can't seem to shake.

Aubrey Posen hated the crown molding in her apartment. It clashed abrasively with the dull gray that slathered the walls and descended in four even steps. She thought it was ugly when she found the place but the hardwood floors made up for the inconsistency in eras. So she ignored it and signed the yearlong lease. She never tended to look up anyway, so what was the harm?

The crown molding was the only thing that she could focus her stare on now. She had read through the paperwork and she couldn’t take a sledgehammer to it even if she wanted to. It made her angry, and she thought she was frowning but couldn’t be sure, because that hideous crown molding wouldn’t be the last thing she saw before everything went dark.

She could smell the greasy odor of the sesame chicken she had ordered from the restaurant down the street as it wafted from the counter. It mixed nicely with a new metallic kind of scent- and Aubrey didn’t’ realize what it was at first.

Getting shot didn’t hurt.

Not the pure action of a lead bullet entering the soft area of her stomach, or the one that hit her knee. It felt like the time right before Christmas when her family took photos on the beach, before dusk. There were horseflies that had no mercy for them- and their bites stung, but they weren’t debilitating. Not in the slightest.

But now her stomach burned and her mouth filled with blood, and she was staring at that stupid crown molding. So it wasn’t an insect with a vengeance, not in the dead winter in New York City. It couldn’t be; so the logical connection was that she had been shot. Twice.

There was broken glass from her balcony and a draft. She felt cold and tired and the front door was left open to the hallway because that was the way that the man had exited. He had missed her the first time, but she was an easy target, standing still in nothing but shock.

She flexed her fingers and wiggled her toes and realized that she wasn’t paralyzed. She could feel every breath move through her lungs and the discomfort of her spine pressing against the wood floor. Aubrey was in and out of consciousness and she couldn’t’ tell for how long. Not initially.

Aubrey had memorized her neighbor’s habits; what times she came and went from classes at the local community college. It wouldn’t be long before she padded up the stairs, refusing to take the elevator, no matter how secure, and found her door open. But she wondered half-heartedly if she would make it that long.

Had she done everything she hoped for in life? She had gotten good grades, had gone backpacking around Europe a year after she graduated college with a bachelor's, traveling was always good. And she had powered through all three years of law school. She hadn’t gotten married, but that was fine. Not many people do, and nowadays something like that didn’t last.

Aubrey had graduated to a prosecuting attorney and had convicted so many people; including the Ripper of Manhattan- that was her golden case, the one that put her in the running to become a DA. One more case and she had it in the bag, one high profile case.

She supposed, as she lay on the hard wooden floor staring at the spotty architecture, that this was a possibility. Something that wasn’t quite a robbery, something that was intentional. Aubrey Posen wasn’t dense, she knew that she had made enemies, that this last court case was a rough one, the whole city was watching.  

Her consciousness wavered again and she felt a cold puddle of blood soak into her shirt. She had hung her blazer against the back of the chair. But she was oddly content- tired if anything. But she was sure that had to do with the 60 hour work weeks.

There was a jingle of keys and the muffled sound of music. Jessica was home and she had removed a headphone. The girl was probably staring tentatively at the open door and Aubrey hoped desperately in her solitude that her fingers were visible. That any part of her was.  

“Bree?” She called out, her words strung together. “I have mace!”

Mace. Aubrey would have scoffed if she could, but everything was becoming harder to do and that acid burn in her abdomen hissed with every breath. She listened as her neighbor walked cautiously into the apartment. It wasn’t long before she spotted her.

“Holy shit, Aubrey!” She felt Jessica drop to her knees, felt her hands, cold from the winter night, on the side of her face, and then on her neck as she pressed for a pulse. She didn’t mind the blood or the fluttering of Aubrey’s eyes “Help! We need help in here!”

She scrambled for her phone, dialing 911 fast. There were more footsteps and the scent of chicken still lingered like a bad hangover. Jessica stayed by her side, and a male voice countered her own. She swore she felt someone pushing down on her chest but latched onto the familiar voice instead.

“…719 East Ord Street- yes, we’re on the second floor. My neighbor has been shot I don’t know how long she’s been here I just found her. Yes, she has a pulse, it’s weak. Please- you have to hurry.” There was a hand on her shoulder, squeezing “You’ve got to keep your eyes open for me, okay? Someone will be here soon.”

When was this place built? The molding shouldn’t be this out of style. It doesn’t match the stainless steel of the appliances or the nice wooden floor. It clashed with her throw pillows, and she’s bought at least seven different ones just to make it acceptable. But nothing was.

           She doesn’t remember waking up. It’s not something Aubrey put too much thought into until it came into question whether she would or not. There was an uncomfortably bright light that buzzed like a trapped fly above her head and a television in the corner of the puke-colored room that played soap operas.

Aubrey could tell from the bad acting and the grainy quality of the scene in front of her. She knew she was in a hospital room; the beeping of the monitors and the IV that was taped roughly to the top of her hand gave that away. They could never find a vein in her arm because it was right on top of a nerve. She hated getting blood drawn, and hated ones lodged into her tendons even more.

She blinked a few times, focusing on the dotted ceiling tiles as she moaned. Not so much from the pain, which was ever-present, but from the stiffness of her body. The heart monitor picked up, and whoever had turned on the television in the first place flicked it off.

“Easy,” Jessica’s voice came from the side of the bed, and an instant wave of calm washed over her body. “You’ve been through a lot.”

Her bed was somewhat propped, facing the busy hallway. It must be evening, she assumed. From the lack of nurses at the station directly across from them. There was a guard sitting in a metal chair in front of the glass windows, skimming through a magazine that she couldn’t’ quite read.

A cynical part of Aubrey expected more people to be here. There was a vase of purple flowers on a side table that had begun to welt and a card that had her practices logo on the side of it. Jessica had her laptop open to a school assignment- and she didn’t’ know what else to expect. She didn’t’ have very many friends in the city unless the wardens at the prison counted. She became well acquainted with them each time she walked through the doors to speak to a client.  

“Where am I?” She asked, regardless.

“A Hospital in Baltimore, you had an accident.”

An accident? She supposed that was the simple way of putting it. It had been no accident, though. Someone was sitting on her couch when she walked through her front door. They knew where she lived when she would get home. Who she was, and they easily raised a 9mm and fired off three rounds.

“How long have I been here?”

“Three weeks.” Jessica frowned, trying to remember the exact time “You’ve had twelve surgeries. It’s a miracle that you’re even here right now.”

Aubrey didn’t’ think it was quite a miracle, but she still held her life in her hands. What a life it was, so focused on trial after trial. She lifted her chin weakly at the guard “Who’s that guy?”

Her neighbor hesitated and then let out a small breath “He’s here for your protection. They still don’t know who shot you.”

There was a thick form of tension in the room and Aubrey felt her fingers curl around the fabric of the bed. The needle in her hand tugged so she unwound them. “What are you not telling me, Jess?”

Her neighbor stepped away from the bed and flicked on the television again. This time she changed the channel to the news; a generic reporter stood in front of their apartment building. His eyes were dark and tired, a hat pulled down over his hair, and his nose red and raw. She struggled to focus her eyes on the moving text at the bottom of the screen. It used to be so easy to listen to the monotone words and the flashing subtitles.

MANHATTAN PROSECUTOR FOUND SLAIN. KILLER STILL AT LARGE.

She didn’t’ understand; the television continued to drone on but she wasn’t listening. Had this been a serial attack? Was she a lucky one out of all of the lawyers in the city? She wasn’t aware of anyone else in their building having a background in law.

Her heart monitor must have picked up its pace because Jessica’s hand was wrapped around hers, calming and warm and grounding. “Hey, hey, relax. You’re here, okay?”

“They’re talking about me?”

She nodded “Aubrey, you were the last on a long list of people. The case you’re working on, all of the witnesses… they weren’t as lucky as you.”

She swallowed the cotton taste in her mouth and made a small noise. There was always a danger to her job, angry people with access to firearms. She didn’t flinch at the profanities shouted at her as she walked down the halls of the state facility, or the horrible articles spread about the people she put away being innocent. But she never expected this, never wanted this.

“I don’t understand” She whispered, frowning.

“They needed to make it look like you died, Aubrey.” Jessica explained, her voice was soft and sad “for your protection, you can’t stay in Manhattan. Not anymore.”

[emybain]

Love Conquers Hate

I have come to the conclusion that I can only write fluff. also, yes ive been wanting to write the parade from nova’s pov since reading the epilogue (despite how much I love magpie). no shame. 

SUPERNOVA SPOILERS 

SUPERNOVA SPOILERS

SUPERNOVA SPOILERS

    The sunlight warmed Nova’s face as she laid back on the star float, legs hovering over the edge. She had been sitting, waiting for Adrian as he left to find them something to eat or drink. Oscar had accompanied him, and they had been gone for twenty minutes so far. As each minute grew longer, her patience grew shorter, so Nova resulted to a few minutes of sunbathing. Beside her, Ruby was chatting with Danna and Narcissa, who were going to be on the float as well. Ahead of them, probably two or three floats, Nova could hear a marching band warming up as well as the whooshing and whipping sounds of the color guard's flags. 

    They had been called to the parade set up three hours ago so that everyone could be accounted for and put in order. Before, Nova had been curious as to why they needed three hours to set up for an hour and a half parade, but after witnessing the amount of stress the organizers and performers went through beforehand, she now had a deeper respect for parades. 

    Now they were waiting for the parade to begin, awkwardly standing around on a random residential street. Someone had mentioned a while ago that they still had thirty minutes, and that was when Adrian and Oscar left for food. 

    An elbow nudged Nova’s side gently. She opened one eye, raising her eyebrow at Ruby, who pulled her up. “There’s someone here to see you,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. She gestured in front of them. 

    Nova ran a hand through her hair, blinking at the young mom and the little girl behind her legs who was no more than five or six. She shared a knowing look with Ruby before hopping down from the float and kneeling to peek around the mom’s legs at the girl. 

    “Hey there.” Nova smiled sweetly. “What’s your name?” 

    “Go on, Camden.” Her mother stepped to the side and pushed her daughter forward encouragingly when she didn’t immediately answer. “It’s okay.”

    Camden peeked up at Nova, and for that brief moment, Nova saw the awe in her eyes. Then she tore her gaze away, cheeks red. “My name’s Camden,” she said in a tiny voice. “I...I was wondering...can I have your autograph?”

    Nova opened her mouth, gasping dramatically. She clasped her hands together. “Of course!” She rummaged for a marker in her pockets, knowing she put one in there specifically for today. Already, multiple people, not just children, had come up to her and her friends asking for autographs. “Where do you want it?”

    Camden’s shy exterior began to drop just a little as she handed over a superhero cape. Nova asked her what her superpower was as she wrote out a short message. She learned that Camden had perfect balance, which pushed her into doing gymnastics. 

    Nova handed back the cape, freshly signed. Camden grinned down at it with sparkling eyes. Then she looked back up at Nova. 

    “Miss Artino,” she began, “how do you be brave? See, I want to be just like you when I grow up, but I’m always afraid.”

    Nova tilted her head to the side, not all that surprised at the child’s honest question, as most children were honest, but surprised at the subject. She thought about it for a moment. Behind her, the three other girls stopped talking, and she could feel their gazes on the back of her head. “Well, Camden, bravery and fear go hand in hand. It’s impossible to be brave if you aren’t at least a little scared.”

    Camden’s eyes widened, and she leaned forward. “Really? Does that mean you get scared?”

    Nova nodded solemnly. “All the time, but I’m still brave.” She paused. “Some of the bravest people in the world are scared of many things, did you know that?”

    She shook her head quickly, and Nova pressed on. “It’s true. Because those people are afraid to lose what they love, so they choose to be brave to protect those things. Do you understand that?” 

    Camden swayed from side to side, contemplating, before smiling a toothy grin and nodding. “Thank you, Miss Artino. I think I get it now.” 

    Nova matched her smile and stretched her arms out, offering a hug that the child accepted. The mother thanked Nova, and then they were gone, back to the small neighborhood crowd watching the parade from their homes. 

    Meeting kids like Camden was nothing new for Nova these days; they always stopped her on the streets asking for photos or autographs or screaming how much they loved her. At first, Nova was weirded out and not sure how to even approach children. While it still made her uncomfortable to think that people idolized her for the very same reasons Nova used to despise the Renegades, she had become a pro at talking to children, and found a tiny bit of joy in brightening their day. 

    “Water?” Nova turned to find a water bottle pushed in her face, the owner of the voice belonging to her boyfriend. She smiled up at him and accepted the water. Oscar showed up beside him and they passed out water to everyone. 

    “You were gone that long and water was all you could find?” She hopped back up on the black parade float, designed to be like a night sky with a thousand shining stars. It was Adrian’s idea, as well as his creation. 

    “Tell me about it,” Oscar groaned. Ruby scooched over and he sat beside her, arm snaking around her waist. The movement was almost natural, and Nova couldn’t help but think back to a year ago when Oscar could barely hold it together if Ruby so much as brushed hands with him. “Not a food truck in sight. They must all be in the big ticket areas.”

    “We’ll get nachos after the parade,” Ruby assured him, patting his thigh. “Any word on how much longer until we start? Mom said Jade and Sterling are growing restless.”

    “At least they have food,” Oscar grumbled. 

    Adrian took a seat beside Nova, and they laced their fingers together immediately. “It’ll probably be another five or so minutes.”

    Narcissa rested her head on Danna’s shoulder, who pressed a kiss to her hair. “I should have brought a book. It’s been three hours!” She sighed dramatically. “This parade is great and all, don’t get me wrong, but it should not be this long.” 

    Nova agreed, although she kept her mouth shut. It was ironic, really, when she thought of where she was a year ago. Who she was a year ago. She had been so filled with hatred and loneliness, craving a revenge that was aimed at the wrong people. So much time and energy and so many resources poured into one goal that ate away at Nova’s humanity for ten years, preventing her from seeing the truth. And now, she recognized that revenge was an illness; it weakens someone and plagues them of any real happiness, convincing them that it is the cure when in fact it is the parasite. Now, she knew that, and was grateful that she was rescued from it’s cage before it was too late. Now, she was here, with the people she loved doing the last thing on the planet she would have ever thought she would do. A year ago, she was at the parade, yes, but with a completely different motive. 

    One of the parade organizers, a middle aged man whose name Nova didn’t bother to remember, came by and told them to get to their positions. Nova took a quick sip of her water and accepted the hand that Adrian offered. Together, they got on the topmost point of the large star in the center of the float. Ruby and Oscar went to a point to their right, and Danna and Narcissa to their left. After a moment, the float lurched forward and began its slow trek down the street. The neighborhood watchers began clapping and cheering, the children jumping up and down and waving at the group of six people on the star. 

    Nova waved back, putting on what she referred to as her “camera smile”, the one she reserved for the media and for events like this. 

    The parade route was supposed to take them along the most known streets of Gatlon and end at Headquarters, something that would take between an hour and an hour and a half to complete. Like every year, it would be televised around the world, and similar celebrations would take place. However, what made this year different was that everyone was now a prodigy. Because of this, it seemed almost silly to solely celebrate the Renegades and their success. No, the Renegades had learned from examples like Nova and the Anarchists and the Rejects that one’s abilities didn’t determine how heroic they were. So, on the Day of Triumph, the Renegades parade was now meant to celebrate all prodigies of all shapes and sizes and abilities. Nova felt as though it was a small victory in the direction of a future she desired, a future where everyone could be equal. It brought tears to her eyes when she was told that the villain floats were being tossed, as well as the Council’s float. In their places would be floats honoring the gifts of prodigies and honoring the warriors lost in the fight for freedom and equality. It moved her to see a float for Honey, despite what the woman had done to Nova prior to her death. It made her grin to see a float for Callum Treadwell, a prodigy who quite possibly had the greatest gift of all, yet was never on a task force like other Renegades. Nova could only fathom what he would think if he were here today. 

    “Are you okay?”

    Nova glanced beside her at Adrian, who was still smiling and waving at the cheering crowds. But she noticed the concern in his eyes. 

    “Yeah.” She wiped at her eyes, which had gotten a little misty, and reached for his hand. He clutched her tightly, a promise. “Just a little overwhelmed is all.” 

    The float turned a corner, and the roaring of the crowd somehow went up two dynamics. They were on what many of the organizers referred to as “TV Street”, where most of the excitement took place for the celebration, as well as where every news station would be covering the parade. It was the street with the best seats for the parade, and the most media. It was also the street where…

    Nova nudged Adrian lightly, making him look down at her curiously. “This is where we met.” She nodded to a familiar spot in front of a vendor selling merchandise. “Right there.” 

    Adrian’s smile grew genuine, and he pulled her closer. “I love you, Nova Artino.”

    “And I you, Adrian Everhart. Every day, I will love you.” Sweet rot, she was letting Danna and Ruby suck her into their shared love of rom-coms and romance movies. She didn’t much care, though. Her heart was full, the fullest it had ever been. 

    When she tilted her head up to kiss Adrian, the crowd went wild. Nova tuned them out, her attention fully on the boy standing beside her. She savored this moment, the way he tasted of the donuts Oscar brought earlier that morning, the feeling of a hand in her hair and another clutching her hip. Too soon did he pull back, but Nova knew from the secretive glint in his eyes that there would be many, many more kisses later in the day when they were alone and away from the eyes of the media. She couldn’t wait. 

    But for now, she let herself be wrapped up in his arms as they both waved to the many cameras pointed at them and smiled at the crowd. A sign held by a kid caught Nova’s eye; when the child saw Nova watching him, he grinned and raised the sign higher, shouting something Nova couldn’t hear. But the sign was enough explanation: Love Conquers Hate.

    She couldn’t agree more. 

[briefololtragedy]

Something to Stay Part 4

Sakura X Itachi

Prequel to Say anything

Itachi doesn’t like being called Uchiha-san.

Rating G

Call me by my name

It was 4:55 when Sakura rushed into the locker room to change into her scrubs for the day. She was always at least 15 minutes early, but this morning it was hard to get up. Sasuke had so many questions and worry for his brother, by the time she go to answering all of then it after 11pm and she wanted to crash into bed, which she did the moment she got home. Shower be damned!

Her alarm woke her from sleep at 430, apparently she snoozed it at 4am. Next thing she knew she bolted out of the bed, almost tripped on her bedding that was now on the floor of her bedroom. When she says almost tripped, she means full on face plant to the floor. A quick shower to wash of the hospital grim just for it to be replaced by a new layer. There was no time to dry her hair, which she put into a quick messy bun. Looking in the mirror after throwing on a simple pair of skinny jeans and oversized T-shirt with a bowl of ramen on it, she noticed the bumps on her face and the slight break out she has gotten due wearing surgical mask so long yesterday and only eating cookies. Looking at her watch, it was 445, the time she normally got to work. She grabbed her Toms and ran out the door.

Sakura made it to handoff just as the clock hanged to 5. Kabuto looked smug. “You look like a walking disaster this morning. Try to put yourself together before seeing patients. We don’t want you giving them a heart attack with how dreadful you look.”

Sakura found herself having to count to 10. She could not punch Kabuto, in the face multiple times, it would be unprofessional. She was sure he was upset with her getting to assist yesterday. They had 20 patients to cover. Kabuto took 4 and split the rest between her and the other intern. Anticipation and worry came to her briefly, knowing that she would have to take care of Itachi. She hoped Sasuke and his parents got what ever peaceful rest they could obtain. She heard the nurses complaining how Fugaku demanded them be able to stay past visiting hours to see that Itachi’s needs were being meet. She planned to pre-round on him last, so she could make a quick escape to meet before the formal rounds with Dr. Senju.

She finished going through the charts of her other patients in record time and able to quickly examine them with no problems. She had a couple appendectomies, cholecystectomies, and hernia repairs. She had one hernia repair who tried to get a little to handsy when she was examining his abdomen. Sakura made a mental note to have a nurse with her the next time she had to be in the room with him.

She had 20 minutes before she had to meet with her team. She planned on taking 5-10 minutes to quickly check on Itachi and then get coffee. She already downed her first cup when she was sitting in front of her computer. Sakura also didn’t care to fix her appearance, aside from her dark circles, she looked presentable. She wasn’t here to appeal to the male sex, she wanted to learn and follow in the footsteps of Dr. Senju.

Hana quickly gave her a report on how Itachi was doing. He had woken up in the middle of the night and went back to sleep after some pain medication was given. His family had left before he fell asleep, which came to be a relief for the nurses working. He was still resting this morning.

Sakura took a deep breath, gently knocked on his door. Hearing no response, which she expected, she entered.

Many years have gone by since she last saw the oldest son of Mikoto and Fugaku. From what she remembers when she was 11, he was a tall, dark, intimidating force. He once snuck her some dango that Sasuke didn’t want following her punching him in the face. His parents weren’t happy with her. She had ran off into their gardens after the incident.

This man laying on the bed sleeping was not the picture that she carried with her all these years. He looked paler than normal, his lines under his eyes were more pronounced, IVs in both his arms, and the IV poll on his right side. His heart tracing looked steady, no arrhythmias. Oxygen saturation was perfect. His breathing pattern and heart rate on the lower side confirmed he was in a deep sleep.

“Uchiha-san, its Dr. Haruno. I will be taking a quick listen to you and then will want to look at your surgical incision.” She had placed on her hand on his left arm, gently trying to get him to stir. She then went about assessing him this morning.

It was now time to look at his incision and knew she would have to be more forceful when trying to get him awake. He started to stir.

“Uchiha-san, its Dr. Haruno. I am just going to check your abdomen quickly to make sure everything is ok. How is your pain?” Those words brought Itachi out of his dream world and as he opened his eyes he was met with the most color he has ever seen, bright pink and emerald. He was once again reminded of a cherry blossom field.

As his eyes started to focus more he was met with Sakura. Gone was the scrawny little thing, and now before him stood a grown women. She still had delicate features, gone was the baby fat of her face. Her hair was on the top of her head in a bun. No makeup on her face, which was a breath of fresh air compared to the other women he has come across over the years.

“I will need to bring your covers down to get access to your bandages, is that ok?” Her eyes were warm and welcoming. She had a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He didn’t answer her right away, but went to slowly push his blankets down. The slight crunch he did caused pain to shoot through his abdomen.

“Uchiha-san you should let me do that for you. It wasn’t even 24 hours ago that you have an intense surgery. I will let nurse Hana now that you will need one of your as needed pain medications.” Her voice was smooth like honey.

He didn’t even notice as she removed the bandages on his abdomen and inspected the site. She worked quickly and professionally. After she was done looking she redid his bandages with fresh gaze and tape.

“Do you need anything else Uchiha-san?” He didn’t know why she was acting so formal with him, but he could understand it. They hadn’t seen each other in years, she wasn’t even a teenager the last time they met. He couldn’t remember ever holding an actual conversation with her.

“No Dr. Haruno. Have you heard from Sasuke any?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“I haven’t heard from him since last night. Hopefully he is getting some rest along with your parents, all of you have been through a lot. I almost thought you wouldn’t remember I'm friends with Sasuke.” She had a slight smile on her face. She was staring at him and it was then that he realized it was because he hadn’t said anything in reply. Itachi got caught up staring at her eyes, those dazzling emeralds.

“Sasuke talks about you and Naruto, well as much as someone like him can… Would it be possible to get something to drink? My throat feels raw.” He had to kick himself for asking her about the drink, he was an absolute idiot.

“Of course. I’ll see if one of the nursing students can bring you something. They are pretty good at checking in on patients and helping out. Dr. Senju and the team will be around later, get some rest Uchiha-san.” Sakura had brought his covers up to his chest and walked out the door. For some reason her saying Uchiha-san didn’t sit well with him.

A few minutes later he was brought multiple cups of water and students more then welling to help him. it was when his nurse came in with some pain medication that they were shooed away.

Itachi didn’t know what to do with himself now. When was the last time he was idle for so long.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sakura made it just in time to get a new cup of coffee before starting rounds with Dr. Senju. It was hard keeping an indifferent face when talking with Itachi. She couldn’t help as she acknowledged how attractive he was, but she wasn’t an airhead preteen anymore. She was able to separate work and her personal life. While Itachi muddied the water some, she would be professional with him and his family when they came into the hospital.

A proud smirk made its way onto her lips as she brought up her coffee cup to her mouth. She had beat Kabuto and the other intern to the meeting spot. She only had to make it though 3 more days until she had a day off. Sunday would be a glorious day!

Jin was the second to arrive, he was one in her first year class. He stood a head and half taller then her, he had an average build, his coloring was brown hair and brown eyes. Unlike her, he had a tan to his skin. He was doing a trauma rotation, but belonged to the orthopedic surgery program.

“ Wonder where Yakushi is? I heard you got to scrub into that surgery yesterday with Dr. Senju, man is she scary! “ She couldn’t help but be irritated by his voice, it wasn’t his fault that she was having the start of a migraine.

“He should be here soon, maybe he heard about a new case for the day.” It was unlike Kabuto to not have arrived by now. At times Wednesday could be a slow day compared to the other days of the week. Starting Friday - Monday you would get the reckless injuries that were brought about by too much drinking and wanting to have a good time. A couple of weeks ago it was a party boat that capsized when too many people were on it.

“Where is Yakushi? I’m ready to round, it was a long ass day yesterday. “ Dr. Senju came up, tea in hand. She was not Kabuto’s biggest fan to start and him not being here was not a way to get off her bad side.

“Dr. Senju, sorry to interrupt but Dr. Yakushi was pulled into a surgery with Dr. Orochimaru.” It looked like the nurses had sacrificed one of the nursing student’s to deliver the message. Sakura didn’t know the name of the poor girl, but could see her shaking.

A grumble came form Dr. Senju, her lips pressed together. “ Let get started. I take it you two are carrying the majority of the patients anyway. We will round on them and then you two can finish charting. You two will be up for first assist on the next surgery. Decide among the two of you who will take it when it comes.” She then started walking down the halls.

Rounds were lightening fast. It was decided that Jin would take the first surgery of the day since Sakura got the one yesterday. Jin vanished to do his work, while Sakura took to sitting at one of the empty computers at the nursing station. The gossip from the nurses would put Ino to shame. ‘notes and then lunch.’

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Shisui leave Sasuke alone. “ How many times did Itachi have to stop those two. Sasuke had gotten back at Shisui for giving his cell number to some of the nurses. Sasuke’s phone wouldn’t stop going off. In retribution apparently Shisui’s Instagram was hacked and was announced that he was undergoing treatment for multiple STDs, his prior conquests were not to happy about the announcement.

Shisui had come with food from Mikoto. Sadly he was unable to eat it due to being on clear liquids. The aroma itself was making Itachi’s mouth water. Itachi refused to let either Sasuke or Shisui eat his food and made them put it in the mini fridge in his room.

“I heard you have little Sakura-chan overseeing you. Aren’t you a lucky dog. Sasuke I don’t know how the two of you never got together even for a night.” Sasuke looked ready to attack. Itachi wasn’t aware that his cousin knew Sakura. Shisui initially worked for the family law firm, but then branched off with itachi to do pro-bono work. He typically got in later then Itachi and stayed to close up the office, where Itachi opened it. Shisui had guilt from not being to the office sooner he may have been able to prevent itachi getting shot.

“Uchiha-san I have come to check on you quickly. Sasuke-kun said that you may be in pain.” Sakura was at the door, her presence stopping the inevitable match between Sasuke and Shisui.

Sasuke looked annoyed and Shisui straightened up. Itachi could already tell Shisui was putting his best flirting face on. “Sakura-chan I have to ask if it hurt?” Sakura looked at Shisui annoyance spreading on her face.

“Shisui we have had this conversation before and I’m not currently in the mood to put up with your ridiculous pick up lines.” Sasuke was annoyed he knew his cousin was doing this to get on his nerves. He and Naruto made it their mission to make sure the guys wanting to date Sakura where fully screened, much to the annoyance of Sakura. She had to keep most of her relationships a secret, unless they were creeps. The creeps she held no remorse for when the two idiots chased them away. Just because they watched out for her didn't protect her from having her heart broken a few times, before she decided to focus solely on her training.

“Come on lets go find something to eat since Weasel here wont share his food.” It was then that Sasuke’s stomach started to grumble, he was in agreement to finding food and some tomato juice.

 After dumb and dumber left Sakura was able to speak to Itachi. “Uchiha-san I know you have been having increased pain and wanted to make sure you were doing ok. Is there anything that you need? “

“Why do you call be Uchiha-san? “ Itachi blamed it on his pain medications for having no filter.

“What am I supposed to call you? I think Shisui has dibs on Weasel. “ she looked playful, mischievous look behind her eyes. It reminded itachi of the little girl he remembered from another time it seemed.

“I would like it for you to call me by my name Dr. Haruno. I feel like my father should be in the room when you say Uchiha-san. “ Sakura couldn’t imagine anyone calling Fugaku by anything other than Uchiha-sama. His face would probably get as red of the tomatoes that Sasuke adores so much in anger.

“Itachi-san considering you are older than me doesn’t that make you an old man?” Before Itachi could reply Sakura’s stomach decided to interrupt their conversation.

‘I forgot to eat lunch again! Two appendectomies came in that Jin and her split, which was around lunch time.’ Sakura couldn’t help but be embarrassed.

“Excuse me Itachi-san, but I will leave you to get some more rest.” Itachi didn’t want her to leave. She was a breath of spring in the shade of beige room.

“My mother made me a bento and my doctor has decided to only let me have liquids. I don’t think she would mind me giving it to you.”

Sakura was speechless. Mikoto’s food was a precious commodity, one that Sasuke refused to let anyone have. “I can get some food in the cafeteria, that was made for you and I’m sure you would like to have it once you are cleared for a regular diet.”

“I’m sure my mother would make me a new one when the time comes. This one hasn’t been in the fridge long and will still be fresh. I insist that you take it. Although I do ask that you enjoy it here as a way to repay me. I could use company that doesn’t want to punch the other person in the face.”

“Well that’s an offer I can’t refuse.” This meal would be the first of many, neither of them knowing that at the time.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer IV: Breaking Point

Two Executive department officers sat in front of me. The agent, a man who had a substantial bald spot despite his apparent youth, placed a tablet on the table. “This is the video we’re about to show to the School Board who are meeting as we speak.”

Anjou was still hanging on to life by a thread, but in this video he was healthy and strong as ever in a corridor of the library three days ago. The video was time stamped 2:42 am. 

Anjou was alone walking towards the elevator to the ice cellar at the end of the hall holding the black card that would give him access. I never saw the attack or the attacker. I only saw Anjou stop in his tracks. He asked. “Is that you?”

By then, the black card had disappeared from his hand. 

Anjou looked down at his jacket. A thin line of blood was slowly spreading over his fine bespoke suit before breaking open and covering the front of his shirt in red. He fell to his knees, then face down, where the blood continued outward, staining the carpet.

I turned away from the images. “What do you want me to say? This means nothing to me. I told you. I don’t know where Mingfei is, and I don’t think he did it.”

I’d been imprisoned in a home that wasn’t mine, in a world that had vanished the love of my life, pursued my best friend like a criminal, and now turned its greedy, hungry eyes on me.

“Mingfei sacrificed for you. He sacrificed his life!” I hissed at them. He had killed Dragon Lords, Dragon Lords who’s human forms he knew personally as friends, by sacrificing his own life in exchange for the power to do so. And he’d kept it all a secret, letting others have the credit.

And this is how they repay him.

The other man spoke. “Lu Mingfei’s Soul Skill is unknown. We have no idea what he’s capable of. You established the Club known as Club - S... and it’s byline is “The S is for Secrets”. There are only two members of Club S... you and Mingfei.”

“We gave a thorough search of the entire premises. But it appears you never kept any records of what these secrets are. There’s not so much as a file cabinet in Norton Hall.” 

I glowered at them. “So?”

He gave an incredulous laugh. “What do you mean ‘so’? By your own admission you’re withholding information from this investigation!”

“This isn’t an investigation. This is a witch hunt!” I shot back. “I told you again and again. I don’t know where he is, he would never kill the principal or steal the dragon skeleton and he doesn’t work with dragons!”

“Mrs. Lu...”

“Don’t call me, Mrs. Lu! My name is Mrs. Meixiu Chu! Which I’ve told you more than once!”

“Okay...” The Executive Agents stood up. “Then I’m afraid there won’t be much we can do for either of you. What the School Board decides, it decides.” They walked out of the the apartment, shutting the door and locking it.

I sat on the couch, trembling uncontrollably. “Johann... I’m so scared...”

I stood up, pacing, rocking back and forth. They always wanted to get ahold of me from day one. They would probably take Ru’Yi away, imprison me and only let me out if I agreed to their genetic tampering. I would be completely at their mercy.

From the start, no one wanted Johann and I together. We’d gone behind their backs and gotten married. Then we’d had a child. The only one standing between me and them was Anjou.

Now Anjou was gone.

They were going to take my daughter... and they were going to take me.

Unless I ran.

I was under constant surveillance. The Restriction on Soul Skills was still in place. I wouldn’t be able to physically outrun them but there was one thing I still had: Mingfei’s Bugatti Veyron. He kept the keys under the front seat. He never drove the car and occasionally he would need to turn it on for a few minutes to maintain the engine and the battery. Plus, I knew he was activated by voice, so long as the keys were in range.

I walked into the kitchen and I started eating and drinking. I would need my strength. Sugar for fast reserves. I grabbed apples on the counter and ate three of them. It was cold outside. I would have to think of somewhere to run.

Paris... no, there were many agents in Paris. Japan? I knew people in Japan. I’d fought alongside them. Chisei was no longer the Patriarch, but I had his swords. Would they have mercy on me? I shook my head. “No.”

I couldn’t trust anyone. They were all part of the same massive monster that was the Secret Society of Dragonslayers.

I swallowed hard, feeling what I just ate try to rise up again in my throat. I took a deep breath.

I heard Johann’s voice in my mind. “ Enemies will read your eyes. When faced with danger, don’t rehearse what you’re going to do, adapt to the circumstances as they come.”

I had to calm down. I took a deep breath and let it out. 

I looked at the dishes in the sink. I turned and began setting them in the dishwasher.

Then I started to clean the refrigerator. I kept my mind firmly in the present, cleaning. About a half an hour passed and my panic somewhat subsided.

And then the door opened again. I turned to look. “Gosh will you learn to kno-”

Executive Department officers walked through the door one after another. I counted. Six. Seven. Eight.

“Carli Lu.” The one at the head of them addressed me, a  muscular woman armed with two pistols.

“That’s not my name.” I whispered weakly.

She ignored me. 

“Your Husband Mingfei Lu is under suspicion of attacking Principal Anjou, stealing the skeleton of Constantine, and  kidnapping the Gattuso lady Chen Moutong.”

“What?!”

“And just now, in the past few minutes, the skeleton of Norton was stolen from the Vault watched over by the Gattuso Family. The theft resulted in the death of Frost Gattuso.”

My chest rose and fell in rapid whistling breaths.

“He is accused of treason against the Secret Society. As a result, we were ordered to take you into custody... however... The new acting head of the Gattuso, Caesar Gattuso is showing you consideration as a mother.”

“He’s asked us to put you on a plane to his estate in Italy. He promises to treat you kindly until this affair is sorted out.”

I willed myself to be calm. “Sorted out? You’re going to kill him.”

“He’s wanted for questioning.” She corrected me. “There is a lot of evidence pointing to him. But at this point, we only want to talk to him.”

They were lying. Even if they weren’t, they wouldn’t believe a word he said because they didn’t believe me.

“May I... have a moment to calm down?”

The woman turned to the other officers some of whom left the apartment, but most only moved further into the apartment one going to the door, another moving to the living room window.

They were cutting off my escape. 

She smiled at me, but there was no warmth or kindness there. “Take all the time you need.”

“I’ll... I’ll go get my daughter.”

I turned and walked out of the kitchen. The woman followed me close behind as I walked into Ru’Yi’s room. The baby was lying in her crib in her little frog onesie. I looked down at her and then at the hilt of Spider Fang that was lying just behind the crib beyond the mattress.

I thrust my hand down, gripped the smooth leather and whirled, slamming the scabbard against the woman’s temple. She staggered back, hand reaching for her pistol. I swept the scabbard again, this time striking her throat. Gagging, her hand instinctively left the pistol to clutch her neck. I reached down for her gun and grabbed it. Firing, once! Twice!

As she fell against the wall instantly unconscious. The footsteps of the other agents pounded toward the door.

I kicked it closed. A frigg bullet whizzed by my face and I pressed against the wall in time to avoid a hail of them coming through the door, shattering the window on the far side of the room. I rushed over to Ru’Yi, who was wailing now, startled by the noise. I scooped her up, tucking Spiderfang and Tongzi into my belt and fired round after round at the door. 

There was a tree just outside the window.

I tucked Ru’Yi tight against me, ran diving out the shattered glass. Hot pain ran  a long line down my back and I cried out even as I reached for the nearest limb and hung there just long enough to break my fall. Then I fell down to the landscaping.

Blood was running down my back in a hot stream as men came around the corner, pointing their pistols until they saw Ru’Yi in my arms. They didn’t fire. I turned and ran toward the garage.

“Cut her off! Cut her off!” They were yelling, drawing closer. But I had the advantage of surprise.

I slammed my shoulder into the door, knocking it open. I shouted. “Carli Lu!” The Bugatti, one of the fastest cars in the world, roared to life like a demon. I slammed my hand against garage door opener and swung open the driver’s side door as it began to rise, agonizingly slowly.

The agents rushed into the garage, saw me go for the car and fired at the tires. But frigg bullets were not equipped to puncture tires. 

The Veyron peeled out of the garage, nearly flattening a foolish agent who tried to shoot me through the windshield.

My back hurt so much but I couldn’t stop. I had to get out of the range of the Soul Skill Restriction.

Cassell sat on top of high hills. The alchemy matrix extending the Soul Skill that suppressed draconic speech could only go out so far from the ground. I pushed the pedal to the floor, reaching 100 mph, then 125, going up to where the hill peaked.

“Hold on baby.” I clutched Ru’Yi to myself, crying as we approached a sheer drop off, going 150 mph.

I opened the door as the car flew straight off the cliff. It soared horizontally for several yards until its nose tipped downward.

At that moment, I jumped, reaching out, hoping that the last few feet I could get away from the College would be the last few feet I needed.

I squeezed my eyes shut and visualized the trees of Chizuru in full bloom of March, willing myself there.

[lasercruz]

@quarterdollar​ fuck you and im sorry that i took so long to answer and i hope that im mostly coherent because i am. very tired as im typing this

1: Full name Nicky Jackie Marie Cruz !!

2: Age 21

3: 3 Fears Mold, tall heights if I’m not secured (like, I’m not scared of rollercoaster heights but I’m scared of like, cliffs), and balloons esp balloon animals

4: 3 things I love I love so many things uhh hh h. Jjba, adventure zone, and my friendssss 💞

I know turn ons/offs aren’t inherently sexual but i never know what to say for them so im skipping them :0

7: My best friend you 🥺🥺

8: Sexual orientation bi

9: My best first date ive never really been on a actual date :0

10: How tall am I 5′3

11: What do I miss being with my friends physically and just watching stuff or goofing around on the floor 😭

12: What time were I born 11:02pm

13: Favourite color Dark blues

14: Do I have a crush yes shh

15: Favourite quote there so much sappy quotes that are on uquizzes a lot that i like a lot the first that comes to mind is “ You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you.” and so on and also “if i loved you less i might be able to talk about it more”

16: Favourite place As far as just physically and not like people or other stuff that comes with with a place, I miss VT campus a lot tbh more than I thought I would. To pick a more specific place, the gazebo at the duck pond cause its where I’d go if I wanted to be alone or like if my roommate was sleeping or working and i didnt want to worry about being quite and it was always super peaceful

17: Favourite food I dont really have One favorite food it just depends what I’m in the mood for but my go to answer for favorite food category wise is either chinese or seafood

18: Do I use sarcasm Depends who I’m with ?? Generally no not often but if im close with someone and just goofin yeah

19: What am I listening to right now My love song playlist. its my go to thing to listen to cause my playlist with all my music has so much on it that i end up skipping half the songs until i find something im in the mood for and this one has a lot less that i end up skipping. the current song its on is day without you by keep for cheap

20: First thing I notice in new person It depends on the person like if they have something that stands out about them, thats what I tend to notice but like. How they carry themself i guess ? cause i feel like thats a easy way to get a read on somebody before talking to them

21: Shoe size 5 mens / 7 womans

22: Eye color Brown

23: Hair color Naturally dark brown but currently dyed black with rainbow bangs

24: Favourite style of clothing this question is on so many ask games and quizzes and I never know how to answer it cause i feel like i dont really have one specific style,, I like colorful and fun stuff i guess ?

25: Ever done a prank call?  No and if you prank call a place of business youre annoying. i used to answer phones at work and we didn’t get them super often but GOD i hate prank callers

27: Meaning behind my URL emu is an old nickname and what i mainly went by until i settled on Nicky and this. is my blog.

28: Favourite movie Baby driver !!

29: Favourite song my go to answer for this is community gardens by the scary jokes

30: Favourite band THE SCARY JOKES

31: How I feel right now sleeby,,,,

32: Someone I love i love , my friendz ,, 🥺🥰

33: My current relationship status single ✌️

34: My relationship with my parents im close to my mom but i dont really get along with my dad ,

35: Favourite holiday Christmas !

36: Tattoos and piercing i have no tattoos, 3 piercings in each ear (2 on each earlobe and 1 on the top on each side)

37: Tattoos and piercing i want I want a interrobang on my wrist and an Aquarius symbol on my ankle and MAYBE the joestar birthmark, i wouldn’t mind more ear piercings and i want a septum piercing but ive seen videos of them getting done and they make me squirm i dont know if id go through with it

38: The reason I joined Tumblr sdklgkjgh i had a my little pony roleplay blog before i made my personal account

39: Do I and my last ex hate each other? no we’re good friends !!

40: Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts? no not regularly at least

41: Have I ever kissed the last person you texted? no

42: When did I last hold hands? my mom tried to hold my hand when i was half asleep on the couch the other day but like i was so out of it so like it was more our fingers together and the rest of my hand just loosely dangling so if that doesnt count, you

43: How long does it take me to get ready in the morning? i give myself about 2 hours if im doing full makeup but thats purposefully longer than i need so i dont have to worry about rushing and i can relax and take my time

44: Have You shaved your legs in the past three days? no i only shave them if they’re gonna be showing or if the Urge to be Smooth comes over me

45: Where am I right now? my room at home on my bed

46: If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me? probably Kaylie cause she doesn’t drink and i assume if im drunk with other friends there she’d be the only sober one

47: Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level? Reasonable, if i have it too loud i cant think so the only time i  have my music loud is if im doing nothing and want to Not Think

48: Do I live with my Mom and Dad? Ye

49: Am I excited for anything? short term im excited for the ai crushes all banks stream tonight and long term im excited to move into our apartment 

50: Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to? no im not a tell everything to someone type of person .

51: How often do I wear a fake smile? i smile most of the time like, at work (before we wore masks) id always be smiling to look nice and like. just in general if i want to Not Look Unhappy or whatever

52: When was the last time I hugged someone? my mom probably like, yesterday

53: What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me? ive never kissed any1     .

54: Is there anyone I trust even though I should not?  nope i don’t think i really trust easily so like this doesnt rlly happen,

55: What is something I disliked about today? i woke up late cause i was up late last night so ive been tired all day I dont like the feeling

56: If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? language barriers aside itd be super cool to meet hirohiko araki

57: What do I think about most? Whatever media im currently most into so right now adventure zone and magnus archives

58: What’s my strangest talent? umm i dunno im kinda flexable i guess ? not like ~contortionist~ level but like enough that i can freak people out sometimes

59: Do I have any strange phobias? i mentioned balloons as a fear in an eariler question so yeah that but im a lot better about it than i used to be

60: Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it? in front tbh

61: What was the last lie I told? i was on phones for the last hour and a half of my shift on friday and like. when people call and ask if an item is in stock and i can’t confirm it i, just tell them its not. like, someone asked if we had a specific kayak and i usually just search the walmart app or run over to where itd be to check but the kayaks are to far for me to run to and the app said limited stock which usually means little to none so , i just put it on hold for a bit then tell him we’re out.

62: Do I perfer talking on the phone or video chatting online? i like video chatting in theory cause its nice to see people visibly react to stuff but i tend to get too self conscious about how i look so i  just do audio only

63: Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens? yes to both !! i am both

64: Do I believe in magic? yes in some ways i suppose

65: Do I believe in luck? yes im v superstitious

66: What’s the weather like right now? its a pretty good day its sunny but not too hot :oo

67: What was the last book I’ve read? its been ages since i last read a book in full 😔  i honestly dont knwo what the last one would of been 😔 😔

68: Do I like the smell of gasoline? yes !!! love it

69: Do I have any nicknames? not anything i get consistently called no

70: What was the worst injury I’ve ever had? ive never gotten super hurt that i can think of ??

71: Do I spend money or save it? save it

72: Can I touch my nose with a tounge? no

73: Is there anything pink in 10 feets from me? doppio bean plush ,,,,

74: Favourite animal? hedgehogs!!!!

75: What was I doing last night at 12 AM? on my phone probably on tiktok or something waiting for jojo to come on toonami

76: What do I think is Satan’s last name is? I? dont think he has one i guess ??

77: What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it? butterflies by samsa but it makes me happy in the “im crying now” kinda way itss cute

78: How can you win my heart? just by being nice and respectful tbh ,

79: What would I want to be written on my tombstone? idk i dont really want anything fancy just my name (chosen name please god im so scared of dying and geting my birth name on my tombstone if that happens i WILL come back as a vengeful ghost) and my birth and death dates

80: What is my favorite word? saccharine

81: My top 5 blogs on tumblr by my tumblr crushes (which its been YEARS since i looked at) ; frostios, 27names4tears, smollpurrito, happynaru, and warpedlamp

82: If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say? if we being real id just get so scared dsjkfsldjglg  theres so much i could say i dont know :((

83: Do I have any relatives in jail? not ? that i know of 

84: I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power? why are all the questions worded super basic except this one skdlskdjfj. Shape shifting

85: What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on? i can really think of anything really as long as a friend is asking i tend to answer truthfully ?

86: What is my current desktop picture? Sobble BUT this reminded me that i wanted to change it to a xenoblade pic so its this now :

90: Failed a class? no

91: Kissed a boy? no

92: Kissed a girl? no

93: Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain? no but oh god just thinking about that im 🥺🥺🥺🥺 id die id melt 🥺🥺

94: Had job? ye i was a cashier for a year in highschool and then i work in wamlart apparel in the summers

95: Left the house without my wallet? not when I know ill need it no, but ive left it home if im just going to a friend or family member’s house or i have my mom’s card or some cash in my pocket

96: Bullied someone on the internet? no !!

98: Played on a sports team? no lmao i dont do sports

99: Smoked weed? no

100: Did drugs? i had a weed brownie like once but it was such a small piece i didnt really feel anything

101: Smoked cigarettes? no

102: Drank alcohol? Ye

103: Am I a vegetarian/vegan? not currently i was vegan for a little bit to encourage a friend that was doing it though

104: Been overweight? no

105: Been underweight? no

106: Been to a wedding?  yes three, my grandma’s when she got remarried, and both my brothers

107: Been on the computer for 5 hours straight? probably yes lmao often

108: Watched TV for 5 hours straight? not TV TV but if netflix and the like count then yes

109: Been outside my home country? no :(

110: Gotten my heart broken? not ? really no

111: Been to a professional sports game? ive been to a handful of Yankee games

112: Broken a bone? no

114: Been to prom? yes i went to my highschool’s and a friend’s highschool’s my senior year

115: Been in airplane? no

116: Fly by helicopter? no

117: What concerts have I been to? none :((((

118: Had a crush on someone of the same sex? ye

119: Learned another language? i took 3 years of Spanish in high school but i wasn’t any good at it and dont really remember much of what i did learn

120: Wore make up? yes i do often :0

123: Dyed my hair? ye a lot

124: Voted in a presidential election? yes ever since iv been old enough to i vote

125: Rode in an ambulance? no

126: Had a surgery?  dental surgery yes

127: Met someone famous? Not anyone i’d count no

128: Stalked someone on a social network? depends on what you count as stalking i guess but like not ever in a creepy way like ive been on people’s social media to find out stuff about them like. if theyre in a relationship or especially after highschool ill wonder about someone i havent talked to in awhile and ill see what theyve been up to and what theyre doing with their life and stuff

129: Peed outside? no

130: Been fishing? yes like once

131: Helped with charity? donation wise yes

132: Been rejected by a crush? ive never confessed to anyone and been rejected but once a friend told my crush i liked them and they confronted me about it and rejected me but it made me more mad at the friend that told them than it made me sad about being rejected because i knew it’d probably go like that  and it justmade thing awkward between us for awhile  😔

133: Broken a mirror? ive broken the little mirrors inside eyeshadow pallets but i havent broken full ones

134: What do I want for birthday? usually just money lol or something thoughtful and cute

135: How many kids do I want and what will be their names? i aggresivly do NOT want kids BUT hypohetically Elliot or Xander for a boy and idk what i’d nam a girl

136: Was I named after anyone? no

137: Do I like my handwriting?  its messy so no not really but if im writing something for myself like a not or whatever i dont mind as long as i can read it

138: What was my favourite toy as a child? even as a little kid i always played computer games but other than that, this guy :

139: Favourite Tv Show? Jojo

140: Where do I want to live when older? New york or japan

141: Play any musical instrument? i can kind of play harmonica

142: One of my scars, how did I get it? i burnt my thumb kinda bad on the oven a while ago its still kinda healing but right now it looks like its gonna stay a scar

143: Favourite pizza toping? i like everything/suprieme pizza but if i have to pick one single topping pepperoni

144: Am I afraid of the dark? yes :((

145: Am I afraid of heights? mentioned it earlier but yes if im not strapped in or secured etc

146: Have I ever got caught sneaking out or doing anything bad? no im so scared of being caught doing something bad that i just. dont

147: Have I ever tried my hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end? i mean yes but thats life babey

149: What my greatest achievments are ive gotten awards for grades and stuff but that boring BUT i got the english department award or whatever that was called im very proud of that

151: What I’d do if I won in a lottery i donate some and save the rest tbh

152: What do I like about myself i can be pretty  sometimes 👉👈 im cute or whateva ,,,

153: My closest Tumblr friend i dont really havent “tumblr friends” aside from friends i know irl and also tey have tumblrs ,,

154: Something I fantasise about just. growing up and having my own place maybe with someone and. being comfortable and  okay and not having to worry ,,

155: Any question you’d like? dkfjhdskhf japan :000

[flowiehowie]

Maid Cafe Au

I am unaware if it was a thing before (Probably because these types of Au’s are pretty common) but after seeing @nobodyfamousposts attempts to ignore Animaestro created a Maid Cafe Au I thought it was a fun chance for fluff. So Here is part one of a i don’t know how many parts. And yes this is an excuse to get Marinette a bun and new friends.

Part 1 - A new prospect. Marinette liked to believe that she did well with managing her life's many responsibilities. Between school, helping out at her parents bakery, hanging out with her friends, fighting akuma, and her own interests and hobbies there wasn’t that much time in the day. She tried her best, however reluctantly, to not let herself slip in any of her duties. Yes, here or there she was late for an activity with her friends, or she might have dozed off during a lecture form Ms. Bustier, but all in all she managed it well.

Apparently not as well as she had thought.

Marinette was sitting in the back of the class staring out of the window lazily. Spring was around the corner and the cold weather was being chased away by longer days and warm weather. The morning was slightly nippy, but now in the afternoon the sun was shining and Marinette just wanted to curl up and take a nap.

Marinette let out a dreamy sigh before looking back at her notebook where she was doodling ideas for new outfit designs. Class was almost over and a half hour ago Ms. Bustier gave them worksheets to work on silently for the rest of the day. Marinette had finished hers about ten minutes ago and started thinking of new spring designs. She normally didn’t wear skirts, preferring jeans, but was thinking of maybe trying something new. It was spring after all, time for new beginnings. And she certainly needed one of those, so she doodled out various skirt designs.

She was fairly content until a loud laugh came from the front of the class. Marinette looked up and saw Alya leaning over her desk to talk to Lila, who was currently laughing obnoxiously in her, “Oh silly girl, I'm about to tell you why you are wrong,” way.  Marinette scowled down at her, clenching her pencil as tight as she could. She couldn’t hear what little miss ‘pay attention to me’ was saying, but she knew it was some outlandish lie.

Marinette continued to scowl down and was tempted to march over there and yell at Lila, until she caught sight of Adrian next to her. The blonde model was currently sitting as far as he could from Lila and his polite smile seemed strange. As if sensing her, his eyes darted up and made contact with hers.  Marinette felt all her anger vanish along with her breathe as his green eyes met hers, and his smile seemed more genuine and he gave a small wave. A blush crept up on Marinette's face and with a small smile she returned his wave. Adrien then reluctantly returned to the conversation with Alya and Lila, and Marinette turned back to her sketchbook, feeling a tad hollow inside.

She heard a small tapping on her desk, and looked over and saw her bag resting on the table and Tikki’s red round head sticking out of it with a with a comforting smile. The little Kwami mouthed words of comfort and Marinette gave her a thankful smile. Marinette always felt close to her Kwami, but the last few weeks the bond has strengthened. Tikki was the only one who was actively on her side when it came to Lila, and she felt like Marinette’s only true friend anymore. After blowing Tikki a kiss to let her know she was okay, Marinette turned back to her design and decided that she was going to make her skirt Tikki themed. It was spring after all, Tikki’s favorite season.

The last few minutes passed silently  and soon class was dismissed. Marinette watched on solemnly as Alya packed up her things quickly and most of the class left fawning over Lila, not even sparing her a glance. Marinette gathered up her things silently, hating how she was becoming used to being alone. She stayed focus on gathering her things and didn’t notice when a certain boy came up behind her.  A cheerful voice shocked her.

“Hey Marinette, do you need some help?”

Marinette stood up suddenly and spun around to face Adrien, only to find she spun too enthusiastically and almost fell over. With a bit of a shout Marinette found herself on one foot balancing carefully, Adrien looking concerned and having a hand out to catch her in case she fell.  ‘Drat’, Marinette thought to herself as she flashed Adrien a smile both apologetic and sheepish, ‘,I should have fallen.’

“Oh, Adrien! Hi! Um- Hello! Yes- um. No, I don't want your help. Or- Ah! I mean I don't need your help! I would certainly want you-IT! It- Your help that is but I am already done packing and… hehe…” A violent flush came across her face as she looked down, eyes darting from the floor to Adrien back and forth. Adrien seemed surprised at first, but as usual seemed to ignore Marinettes stuttering and gave her a bright smile.

“Well in that case would you like me to walk you home? My bodyguard can trail behind us in the limo so it should be fine with my Father.”

Marinette must have fallen and died. That was the only explanation as to why she was now in Heaven. All bad thoughts of Lila were pushed aside as a large smile grew on her face. She nodded quickly. “Yes I would love you- THAT! That. I would love that! I mean not love. Psh who said love. Like It would be cool if we walked together. Yeah, cool. Like Me.” Marinette then tried to demonstrate how cool she felt by getting her bag strap caught on her chair as she tried to walk forward and the chairs toppled over her, causing her to squeak loudly.

After a short embarrassing moment of fixing the chair Marinette decided the best course of action would to slowly curl up on herself and die forever. Not being able to do that however, she gave Adrien an apology which he waved off, and the two began to walk down the steps, Adrien filling the silence by talking about the new game Ultra Mecha Strike iV was coming out and how they should play together. Marinette was slowly calming down and was going to risk attempting to agree that they should, when a voice stopped her.

“Marinette, actually, could you wait a second. I would like to talk to you about something.”

Marinette turned to see Ms. Bustier standing near her desk, looking towards Marinette. Marinette was confused but nodded and turned to apologize to Adrien. He waved her off once again and said he would wait for her outside the school. Marinette allowed herself a dreamy sigh and then turned back to her teacher, who was watching them both with a small smile.

“What did you need Miss Bustier?” Marinette asked curiously as she sat  at the offered seat across the teachers desk. “Did I not turn in my Class Rep report? I could have sworn I did it yesterday?”

“No, Marinette, it's not that. I have your report and its very well done, as always,” Miss Bustier said kindly as she walked around the desk and leaned against it, causing Marinette to have a small smile. “No, I am afraid this is about your frequent tardiness and your occasional absences. Unfortunately, they have gotten to the point that they can’t be overlooked.”

Marinette straightened up, her face going concerned. She knew she cut it close here and there, but she had thought they were under control. “I’m so sorry Miss Bustier. I try really hard but it's just with my parents bakery and the akuma attacks and,” Miss Bustier raised a hand to stop Marinette and she smiled kindly at the young girl, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Listen I know you are busy. And I know how hard you try Marinette. You always keep your grades up and keep a positive attitude around class which is why I typically overlook it, but Principle Damocles is worried about your record for tardiness and your commitment to your education. “ Bustier leaned back and crossed her arms loosely, keeping her voice calm and soothing so as to not upset Marinette.

“I have assured him multiple times that you are one of our best and brightest, but he is still concerned as to how it looks on paper to the board. He wanted disciplinary measures, but I offered another idea that he is agreeable to.”

Marinette looked on with concern and confusion, her hands clenched as Miss Bustier reached back and grabbed something off her desk as she continued to talk. “As you may be aware we allow our upper class students to use school expenses to undergo certain projects. Usually such ventures are reserved for those about to leave Lycee, but some exceptions get made for special students. Such as Mr. Felix Alium.”

Marinette raised her eyebrow, a bit confused as to what this all had to do with her punishment and absences. “Who is Felix?” Marinette asked instead, assuming Miss Bustier would get to the point eventually.

“Felix is a student a year above you, and he is exceptionally bright. Top of all his classes, and is already being looked at by several private Lycee’s. Despite his young age he is already adamant that his future will be business minded. After several meetings with the board and with Mr. Damocles, it has been decided that under teacher supervision Felix will be put in charge of a small business venture courtesy of the school. We will be opening a small cafe which will be mostly student run. It will be funded by the school and will run the entirety of Spring break, and possibly after. The school will only be in charge on a high managerial level, the venture however is entirely Felix’s. It will go to extra credit and will look quite good on any application.” Miss Bustier finally offered Marinette the envelope she grabbed off her desk, and Marinette curiously opened it.

“Now it will have students working the cafe, with Felix serving as Manager. He has scouted out those he wanted to take along the venture with our approval. He has expressed interest in having you involved, however I was hesitant at first with your track record. However it has been decided by Mr. Damocles and I. Either you work on this project with Felix, or you take extra classes throughout spring break. The choice is between you and your parents, who we have already notified.”

Marinette’s head was spinning with all this information. She numbly thumbed through the folder, seeing various essays and plans for this supposed Cafe. Apparently it wouldn't be just a normal cafe, but something called a ‘Maid’ cafe. It seemed to cater to young teenagers and cosplayers, and it seemed this Felix fellow was pushing to have a day all in honor of the Cities heroes; Ladybug and Chat Noir. Not out of respect or admiration it seemed, but because it would bring in the most money if his essays were anything to go by.

This Felix seemed very smart and business minded. He seemed to have everything already planned, and on list of potential workers her name was written in his supposed very neat handwriting. Which brought up another thing: why her? She doesn't know who this Felix was. Never even heard his name before. How did he know hers? She relayed this to Miss Bustier, who smiled in returned.

“You may not have noticed Marinette, but you have been making quite a name for yourself. You are the child of two very successful bakers, and you have designed for Jagged stone and won a contest judged by Gabriel Agreste himself. Like Felix you are very exceptional, and I think it's wise on his part to wish to include you.”

Marinette couldn’t help the blush that crept on her face and she looked down at her face. She had a pleased smile on her lips, though. She was never one to brag, and never tried to, but the fact that people have noticed all those accomplishments filled her with pride. She vaguely knew they were big deals, but to have them laid out like that to her made Marinette felt like she was doing something right.

“Listen Marinette, If you do decide to go into this project, know you must fully commit. Felix will be giving reviews of all the students helping. If yours is not to our liking Mr. Damocles may see fit to exercise further punishments. So think carefully about this, and talk with your parents about it. I will need an answer by the end of the week okay?”

Marinette nodded and she stood up, still flipping through the envelope. The more she read about this the more intrigued she was.  She said goodbye to Miss Bustier and thanked her for all her kind words and for understanding how busy she could be. As Marinette walked out of the doors to the school, she looked around for Adrien, but frowned when she saw Lila and Chloe were both pawing all over him. He looked very uncomfortable and Marinette felt a familiar anger burn in her stomach.

Before she could act however, Adrien looked up and saw her.  He gave her an apologetic shrug, and tried to get the two off him. Before he could however his Bodyguard seemed fed up and personally walked over and pulled Adrien into the Limo. Adrien managed to wave at marinette sadly before the Limo pulled away.  Marinette waved gently, the anger turning hollow again as she sighed.

“Marinette…?” A concerned voice came from her bag and Marinette looked down to see Tikki looking at her concerned.

“I’m fine Tikki. I’m used to it.” Marinette sighed, and shot the kwami her best smile, before she began to walk home. Her mind filled with liars and crushes and most prominently; a mysterious boy and his Maid Cafe.

[angrylizardjacket]

always been close {Roger Taylor}

Anon asked: okay i LLOOOOVe your Ben hardy/roger taylor fics and i was wondering if you could write more of them? I don't have a particular request (anything you write will probably be fantastic) but i do really like a smug or cheeky roger taylor.... so do what you want with that...

Anon asked: Could I request a Roger Taylor x reader fanfic where they’ve been good friends for years,the other members know the reader too but one day the hook up and the other members notice that something happened between them and at the end they somehow end up together.I want a lot of shocking reactions from the boys as I live for them.You don’t need to write it if you don’t like the idea.But thank you ! 💗

A/N: 2870 words. Me, cramming as many prompts into a singular trenchcoat and shoving it out into the world: are you not entertained?! also.... like, light to medium smut..... i might start writing all out smut. Not exactly what was asked for, but it was a fun time. Jealousy warning as well.

“So how do you know Rog?” Deacon smiles at you when you offer to help the boys pack up after their first show, it’s a kind smile, a smile you can trust. Brian and Roger like him well enough, and you at least trust Brian’s judgement enough to be friendly to their new bassist.

“I don’t.” You tell him, straight-faced as you haul the bass drum into the back of van. Deacon’s expression turns confused as Roger passes you another piece of equipment. Looking the newest band member directly in the eyes, you double down on the bit. “I’ve never met this man before in my life.” 

“I’m getting a beer, you want your usual?” Roger calls to you, and you turn back, making a face at him. “I’m done packing up, Brian’s the only one left.” He responded to your nonverbal complaint by making a flippant gesture to the guitarist, who was clicking the last of the latches shut on his guitar case. “Drink?” He asked you again, and instead of answering you just beamed at him. Poor Deacon just looked confused.

“Pay them no mind, Deaky.” Brian said, sliding his guitar case in the back beside the bass. “It’s a blessing they’re even coherent half the time.” Brian, exasperated, turned to you. “How’d you meet Rog?” He asked, voice flat as if it were a question he’d asked a hundred times before, and you looked back at him.

“He killed me in a past life and I’m biding my time for revenge.” You responded, expressionless, to which he shook his head.

“That’s a new one.” He would give you that much, before turning to John. “Y/N and Rog grew up together.” He said by way of explanation, speaking over the top of Roger shouting from the door that they’d run out of your favourite drink, but that you could share his beer if it came to it.

“You drink piss-water and I can see mine in your hand.” You accused, while Roger leaned down, his lips at the rim of the glass that held your drink.

“These are both for me.” Somehow, he thought the best course of action was to take a drink from the one obviously for you, slurping the top of it obnoxiously. 

“Children, children, get in the car.” Freddie called over the top of you both, and you took the opportunity to snatch your drink from Roger’s hand, spilling it both on him and yourself, though you still thought a crow of triumph was warranted.

“So how do you know Roger?” The girl he’s brought along to the band’s first album recording is pretty enough, dark hair, cute shorts. She smiles at you and it’s all teeth, something a little bit nasty and insinuating in her tone. It takes a moment for you to suppress your eyeroll, you’d dealt with this before any girl who was into Roger seemed to see you as competition, and as flattering as it was when the two of you started hitting the town together, it was wearing thin now.

“I’m his personal bodyguard.” You tell her, and the girl purses her lips, but doesn’t say anything else. Mary hides her laughter behind her hand, and drapes her other arm against the back of the sofa, an open invitation for you to lean against her and watch as the boys set up in the other room.

They record for hours, trying everything and anything, experimenting with everything they had, making music, dancing, living electrically for the time they had in there. The woman he’d brought takes most opportunities to throw herself on him, dance with him, keeping it relatively tame for present company, but you knew the look in his eyes, and in hers. 

The last take of the night is when her thinly-veiled jealousy shtick is wearing thin on you, and you leap up after his final recording session, jostling the sleeping Mary where she was lying on your lap, running to him. Wrapping your arms around him, you let him spin you around in elation.

“That was good! That was so good, wasn’t it, Y/N?” And he’s glowing with excitement, eyes only for you. You answer in kind, gushing about the music, how excited you were for it. There’s triumph running through your veins when the other girl has to clear her throat to get his attention. He went home with her, but you still feel victorious.

It’s a feeling you’d always experienced, since you were young; at first it was only the two of you, both of you going to the same high school a district away, not knowing anyone. But Roger had a magnetism to him, and an aggression that brought in a certain type of person. You weren’t lonely, no more than any other high schooler, but for all yours and his friends, you both made damn sure to stay best friends.

It continued into university; he’d brought you in to meet the band at the first gig, and they took to you immediately, so you kept coming, would help them pack up, make yourself indispensable, earn your place as Roger’s best friend in this world he’d cultivated around himself.

And now here you were, the final gig before he and the others officially drop out to become serious musicians... Or, there you were, because after half an hour of drinking and throwing peanuts at Roger and the girl he was with - who had said the band was shit, though the drummer was cute, while in the bathroom - Roger had dragged her out to the car he had managed to scrape together enough cash for.

“Roger?” Now you’re just tired, lying in his bed, wearing his shirt. “Why’d you bring me back here? I was a dick to you, to-” you can’t remember the name of the girl he was with, but she was just trying to have a good time, you know you shouldn’t have-

“Stop talking.” He yawned as he walked into the room, wearing his pyjamas shorts and drinking from a half-filled bottle of water. When he sense you’re about to say something else, he puts up a hand, eyebrows raised at your possible defiance, and you close your mouth, sulking.

Climbing into bed with you, the two of you shift automatically, your head resting on his chest as he wrapped an arm around you, looking up at the ceiling. The two of you hadn’t shared a bed like this in years.

“Sorry.” You find yourself murmuring as he strokes your back, well, as much as he can with half of it being used as part of your pillow.

“Why’ve you gotta be like this?” He sighed, but you just tucked up closer to him.

“I thought we weren’t talking about it.” Voice low, you feel a quiet, self-deprecating laughter rumble through his chest, and his hand comes to rest at your hip, fingertips brushing against your thigh where his shirt ends. You’re waiting, holding your breath to see what he would do. You know he’s looking at, can feel his gaze on your face, but he doesn’t stop, fingers moving slowly just beneath the fabric of the shirt to your underwear. His thumb slides beneath the elastic, and finally you look up at him. He’s so serious, God, you could cut the tension with a knife, and it snaps as he does, pulling the elastic of your panties up in one quick flick and letting it snap against your side. 

“Ow! That hurt, you asshole!” You laugh, shifting to prop yourself up on your elbow, but he’s already pulling you down for a kiss, grinning against you lips. It feels like it should. You fit together easily, his hand moving to keep your hips steady as you shift automatically to straddle him. “You’re such a dick sometimes.” You pull back, still grinning, lips still only inches from his. He raises his eyebrows pointedly at you, and you’re pretty sure there’s nothing hotter than Roger’s smug fucking face, as he then proceeds to graze his nails up your thighs, kissing you to swallow the whimper that escaped you.

It feels like it’s been a long time coming. It’s fun, but its not unfamiliar; you’ve known each other for so long it’s like it’s a natural progression. You can read each other like a favourite book, somehow instinctual and a little awkward, which is, well, it’s perfectly you two. 

“You know what? I don’t think I’m actually sorry for cockblocking you tonight.” You mused, a little out of breath, shooting for serious. Though it takes Roger a moment to process what you said, he grins up at you, gently poking a spot on your inner thigh where he knows a hickey will bloom.

“Maybe should thank you.” He snorts, which only goes to set you off laughing again. The sound of it, warm, syrupy and at ease, it makes him grin, proud of being able to illicit such a genuine laugh from you in this situation, and soon you’re pulling him up to kiss him again, still thrumming with laughter.

No-one notices at first. Well, to be fair, you and Roger are weirdly touchy, so if he’s pinching your ass more than usual, no-one seems to care enough to comment on it. Well, you notice, but you couldn’t care less. Things between you have shifted; not gotten weird or bad, just shifted sideways. Roger’s still sleeping with any practically any girl that throws herself at him, and you’re free to hook up with anyone and everyone you like, but sometimes... you just find yourself together at the end of the night.

One night, the girl he’s talking to at the bar gives you a catty look when he’s not looking. She saw the two of you come in together, never mind the cute guy who had been buying you drinks for the past hour. Excusing the poor guy who you know is now probably going home alone tonight, you make your way to the bathroom, leaning against the wall beside it, watching Roger and waiting until you catch his eye.

He frowns slightly at you, but you just nod towards the bathroom and raise your eyebrows in silent question. It’s almost comical how fast he leaves the girl at the bar. When she follows his trajectory with her eyes, she sees you waiting; you wink at her, the grin on your face stretching into something smug as Roger wraps his fingers around your wrist, pulling you into the bathroom. Mine. 

It’s not like you do that every time you go out together, just if you get bad vibes off whoever he’s with, or if she makes a face at you like you’re some sort of competition... which you are, but you don’t want to seem like it.

The thing is, Roger does it too, he’s just a tad more possessive. Sometimes he’s subtle, mentioning to you and whoever you’re with that you had to go; band rehearsals early the next morning, even though it was usually a lie. Your favourite, however, was the night you both went to a dingy little pub with a jukebox rather than a band, and the guy who had been plying you with alcohol had come back from the bathroom with a grin. You were tipsy, feeling on top of the world with this stranger’s hand on your thigh, when out of nowhere, Roger’s arms wrap around you, warm and familiar.

“You right there, mate?” The man at the bar had snapped.

“He called you a ditzy bitch in the bathroom.” Roger had murmured against your ear, low enough so only you could hear, and in your liberated state, you were ready to yell at the man, though the man had enough yelling of his own to do.

“Alright, you wanna go, mate?” He growls, standing, and your smile turns poisonous as a new thought occurs to you.

“Yeah, Rog, do you wanna go?” The soft, amused nuance in your voice conveyed such a different message that it was laughable, you turn your head to rest your forehead against his where he’s perched his chin on your shoulder. The man at the bar deflates a little as you lose interest in him, and Roger’s smile widens. 

“Sounds like a plan.” She mine. It’s there in his eyes, the way he keeps an arm around you as you leave the bar, you feel it thrumming through him as pulls off your shirt in the back of his car.

Sometimes you head to bars with the boys and Mary, sometimes they still play pub gigs, and yet they still don’t seem to realise. Or, most of them don’t seem to realise.

“You and Roger are hanging out a lot.” Mary smiles at you, a glint of mischief in her eyes as you watch the boys complain about trying to fit their gear in Brian’s stationwagon. 

“Of course, he’s my best mate.” Shrugging noncommittally, you hear Mary hum, unconvinced. Shooting her a suspicious look, she just shrugs in return, mimicking your own dismissive gesture. 

“You want me to give you a lift home?” As if to prove Mary right, Roger calls out to you, pulling out his keys. You can feel Mary’s pointed look, and your expression falters, shaking your head with a smile, though your heart’s not in it.

“No, I-” you start, but then the rest of the band is looking at you, “there’s someone at the bar.” Gesturing over your shoulder awkwardly, you give them all a strained smile and head back inside. Catching Roger’s expression, he actually... looks hurt, and a little jealous, though he covers it up quickly.

“Can I ask you something?” The pub’s doors closed behind you, and you’re fully intending to stumble into a taxi when a voice is heard behind you. Whipping around and almost losing your balance, you spot Roger, leaning against the edge of the building.

“Do not sneak up on me like that Rog.” You admonished him, reaching an arm out to him for support, and he’s there automatically, wrapping his arm around you. 

“What are we doing?” It’s actually snowing outside, and you’re tempted to say freezing my ass off, but he seems serious.

“Fuckin’ around.” You mumble, turning to wrap both your arms around him. “You’re my best friend.” Voice dreamy, you feel it when his arms tighten around you.

“Best friend.” He repeats, quietly, and you hum thoughtfully for a moment.

“Mine.” The word is firm as you speak it, and he leans back, eyebrows furrowed.

“What does that mean, Y/N?” He asked, and with the distance between you, he watches as snowflakes drifted about, settling on your closed eyelashes.

“Means I hate that you fuck other girls, Rog, but you’re my best friend and an adult so you can do what you want.” It takes you a moment to get the full sentence out around your vaguely uncooperative tongue, but when you open your eyes, he’s smirking at you.

“There was no guy at the bar.” It was a statement rather than a question, but you snorted with laughter anyways.

“’course not, you knob. Mary was getting suspicious though.” You told him, and he had to muffle a laugh at that. After a beat, you raise your eyebrows at him. “And yet, Roger, you walked all the way back here and waited until I was kicked out to spend time with me.” 

“Yeah, well, gotta look after what’s mine.” 

“Those look fresh.” Mary poked at the hickey on your throat, commenting loud enough for the boys to hear as the two of you draped yourselves across the sofa in the rehearsal room. Giving her a shit-eating grin, you can see Roger’s own wicked smile where he’s tweaking his drum kit. 

“That’s because they are.” Swatting her away, you pulled a magazine from your bag, flipping it open.

“So the boy at the bar-?” Mary giggled, shifting to read over your shoulder, though you weren’t paying attention to the words.

“Oh no, this is all Roger’s work.” Shooting for nonchalant, you can hear the others stop their tuning as Roger continued to set up. Looking up, you can see Mary grinning out of the corner of your eye, Brian looking like he was quickly forming a headache, John frowning into space, deep in thought, and Freddie looking between the two of you.

“How long’s this been going on?” He asked, seemingly still unsure about the nature of the relationship.

“A while.” Roger supplies, which John echoes as a question.

“Year, maybe?” You look to Roger, for confirmation, and he shrugs, making a noise of vague confirmation. Brian finally unfreezes where he’s got his base in one hand, and other pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What the fuck, guys?”

[sunriseskog]

comethru- Auston Matthews

Request: n/a this was entirely self induglent bc im sad and ive had comethru by Jermey Zucker stuck in my head for weeks

Word Count: 2,267

Warnings: cursing, angst, dudes being assholes, mentions of tr*ding auston

A/N: ive been on hiatus for a long ass time so any feedback is more than welcome!!!! also i am fully aware that i used this gift for my last post but its hot and i dont care

It had been a little over a month since Auston left. No… that’s not quite right. It had been a little over a month since Auston left Toronto. It had been just barely under a month since you had left Auston.

You weren’t entirely sure who the trade surprised more, but you did know for a fact that it had had a far greater effect on you than it had on Auston.

He had remained optimistic in the beginning. After all, Buffalo is barely a 2-hour drive on a bad day. On a good day, he could probably make it in an hour and a half. But the two of you had quickly reached the conclusion that either of you driving 4+ hours a day wasn’t practical, and it wasn’t fair to whoever drew the short end of the stick, pun intended. You knew he would never ask you to move for him, hell even moving in together had been a stretch for you, but you also knew that there was an unspoken expectation that eventually the both of you would relocate closer to the arena.

Before he had even reached the border, you had managed to convince yourself that this short distance relationship would cripple your relationship before you could even begin filling out the US immigration forms to move with him, let alone actually convince yourself to do it. So you backed off. You knew that trying to exhaust what was left of the relationship would only end up destroying you the both of you more than was necessary, so you let go. You knew it wouldn’t take him long to pick up on the fact that you were becoming distant, taking longer to respond to texts, barely calling him back and conveniently timing your responses with the specific intention of him not being able to pick up. You may have been stupid, but you sure as hell weren’t subtle. You knew that as long you were the bad guy in the scenario, it wouldn’t take him nearly as long to get over you, and as long as you remained in control of the situation, you knew that you’d come out of the tail end of things perfectly fine.

And you were. You were absolutely, positively fine. But that was all you were. You weren’t good or great or doing well, you were just… fine. You were off-kilter, sure, but you were surviving, and that was honestly all you had come to ask of yourself. You were sure that the other shoe would drop soon enough, you had ridden the high and now you were at the plateau, but the comedown seemed to always be lurking around the corner.

One too many sleepless nights in a row had come to significantly impact your sleeping schedule. It had gotten to the point where your boss had come to expect your work day to end at 5 am instead of 5 pm. It was nice, though. To see the city when it felt like no one else could. To have your whole day to yourself, even though it was technically night. Everything was much quieter, and there were moments where it felt like you might be the only person in the entire city to be awake, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You rarely interacted with anyone, you didn’t even wake up until hours after the last of your coworkers had left the building, and every errand you had to run could be completed via the self-checkout of the 24 hr supermarket a few blocks away from your apartment building. You weren’t lonely by any means, you just so happened to be alone.

Except on game nights. You were never alone on game nights. Luckily, there weren’t very many Toronto residents that enjoyed watching one of their franchise players play in a different teams jersey, but you still couldn’t help but punish yourself by watching his games whenever they were on at the sports bar you frequented. You told yourself that as long as someone else put the game on, and as long as you left with someone new before the game was over, then it wasn’t nearly as pathetic as it seemed.

An issue arose the first time Toronto played the Sabres. You hadn’t checked the schedule, you just knew that there was a game. You also knew that if you were ever alone when a game was on you would curl up with far too much ice cream and a borderline dangerous amount of rum, neither of which were ideal. Immediately upon entering the bar, you knew that it was far too crowded for there to not be a Leafs game on, it was nowhere near baseball season, and the sea of blue jerseys couldn’t be for any other team. An involuntary wince consumed your face as Auston’s name reached your ears, it seemed like every congregation of fans in the entire establishment were talking about him, and a cursory glance at the nearest screen confirmed your fears.

The bad news was that if you stayed, you would have to watch Auston play, which was bound to be painful for any Leafs fan, but this one would hurt you just a little more than all the others— the knowledge that he was just across the city weighed heavily on your shoulders as you pushed through the crowd to find an empty stool somewhere. The worse news was that there was no way in hell a single guy in here would be willing to leave before the game was over, so you’d either have to watch all of it and then fuck the feelings away, or go home and watch all of it and probably end up crying for a majority of the third period. The former seemed like a more viable option at the time.

Now, though? You wished you had just gone home. Because it turns out you were wrong, there was a dude at the bar who was willing to leave before the end, as it would turn out, he was ready to leave before the second period was halfway through. That should have been your first red flag.

In your defense, you had a lot of other shit going on, and your brain was far too preoccupied coping with the stress that the game was bringing to consider the fact that the nice guy who had been paying for your drinks might not turn out to be that nice after all.

On the cab ride back to your apartment, you found out that his name was Sam and he was a lifelong Leafs fan. The two of you bonded over having grown up around hockey without actually playing it, and you even shared a cigarette at the entrance of your building’s lobby. It wasn’t until the two of you stepped into your living room that things took a turn for the worse.

The framed and signed Matthews jersey on the mantle had been more of a joke than anything else, all of your friends thought it was funny while the two of you were together, and you hadn’t had anyone over since the breakup, so you hadn’t found a reason to convince yourself to take it down. The look of disgust on Sam’s face as soon as he laid eyes on it would have been a fairly convincing reason if you actually gave a shit what he thought about you.

“That’s borderline sacrilege,” he commented, gesturing towards the display. You shot him an incredulous look, waiting for him to give any indication that he was making a joke.

“What?” You questioned, not really confused, just wanting to clarify if he was saying. What you thought he was saying.

“You can’t seriously call yourself a leafs fan and still support that guy! He’s a traitor,” He asserted. His over passionate gesturing indicated that he was genuinely this invested in the topic, which should have been your second red flag.

“I mean c’mon, (Y/N),” He continued. “You’re not stupid, are you?”

You couldn’t help but scoff at how pretentious and condescending he was being, without seeming to realize that he was acting like an absolute prick.

“I can assure you, Samuel,” You drawled sarcastically. “I am anything but stupid, but you have got to be absolutely moronic if you genuinely believe that I’m going to let you fuck me after speaking to me like I'm a goddamn child. Your kinks are your business but that's not really my style,” you sneered as you moved towards the doorway in order to invite him to throw himself out so you didn’t have to bother touching him any more than you already had.

“Now why don’t you get the fuck out of my house, dick head,” You spoke as your lip curled and your brow quirked, gesturing through the doorway to drive the point through his thick skull.

“Gladly,” He scoffed, slamming his shoulder into yours as he stepped past you. “Not like I’d want to fuck a whore like you anyways!” He shouted over his should as he started towards the stairs.

“Open your mouth that wide again and I’m gonna have to ask you to chortle my cock, Samuel” You responded, giving a middle finger to his back for your own satisfaction. You had never been one to censor your insults, and over the years they had become more and more lewd. This, of course, had never really presented itself as a problem until you caught the eye of your neighbor as you turned to storm back inside of your apartment. You couldn’t help but wince apologetically at the old woman, giving her a repentant head nod as you shuffled back inside.

You let your back hit the inside of the door, sliding roughly down until your tailbone hit the hardwood floor beneath your feet. Of course, the first substantial interaction you had in over a month would turn out to be a spectacular disaster. And of course, it was because of Auston. Realistically, you knew it wasn’t his fault, you just really really needed someone else to blame right now. You carded your fingers through your scalp roughly, and let out an elongated groan in the hopes that it would satisfy the overwhelming urge that you had had to scream at the top of your lungs for the past month or so.

As you stared at your own intertwined fingers in an attempt to calm yourself down, you couldn’t help but notice that your fingers were shaking. This wasn’t a recent development by any means, but this was the first time that you had noticed it being this aggressive. It usually only happened when you had coffee, which was why you had abstained from it for a majority of your life. As you looked back on what your routine had become, you realized that through all the late nights and later mornings, you had been popping caffeine pills and ordering espressos far more than the ‘one-time thing’ you told yourself it was. The realization that your life had done a complete 180 in the span of 5 weeks began to weigh on you, and it seemed like your mind was consumed entirely by flurries of memories of bad habits you had fallen back into and the lifeless moments you had spent floundering, convincing yourself that you were fine on your own, despite the fact that that was anything but the truth.

It didn’t take very long to find his contact picture in your recent messages. You hadn’t had much of a reason to talk to that many people lately. It took longer to open up the message thread, trying to prepare yourself to view the unbearably awkward finality of your most recent messages to each other. The preview underneath his name only served as a painful reminder that the last time he had texted you was to say that he loved you. And you hadn’t said it back.

You weren’t sure if he was going to respond, hell you went sure he was even going to read it. For all you knew it was entirely within the realm of possibility that he had blocked you a while ago. You knew exactly what to say, surprisingly, that wasn’t the hard part. Of the few letters that you typed, the closer you got to reaching out to him again seemed to calm you down more and more. By the time you tacked on the question mark at the end, your fingers had stopped trembling for there first time in what you could assume had been at least a couple of weeks. You let your phone drop to the floor as soon as you hit send, either he would be here within the hour or his response wouldn’t be worth reading. Those were the only options on the table. Either he was going to come and the two of you were going to get to be okay for a little while, or it truly was the end. If that was the case then you really didn’t want to see what he had to say. You heard your phone vibrate from where it laid just a couple feet away, and as much as the desire consumed you, you couldn’t bring yourself to move to see what it said. So you sat there, and waited to see if you would be able to hear those oh so familiar footsteps ascending your staircase again, responding to your oh so familiar request.

‘come thru?’

[shels-kpop-main]

Moments, part 11

Word Count: 3146

Warnings: None. A little angst and fluff so soft

A/N: Please let me know what you guys think! Things will be heating up in the next chapter, but I had to get this last bit of fluff out of my system. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, send me an ask!

You stayed in Roger’s room the rest of the night, leaving only to retrieve the plate of food from the living room table. Upon returning with it, you set it on the bed between yourself and Roger, and the two of you shared it. After eating, the two of you stayed up talking for several hours. When you finally reached for Roger’s wrist to check the time, it was almost one in the morning.

But you didn’t leave. You just wove your fingers through Roger’s, and laid over. He did the same, and you fell asleep there. Curled up and facing each other, with your hands meeting in the middle.

You woke up to bright sunlight coming in through the window. You were still laying above the covers, but a wool blanket had been thrown over you and tucked under your feet. Your hand, previously holding onto Roger’s, was now loosely curled around his collar, the backs of your fingers pressed to his chest. You inhaled deeply, still half-asleep, but awake enough to appreciate being surrounded by things that smelled like Roger. Including Roger, who was still sound asleep across from you.

He had an arm draped over your waist, and the other rested next to his face on the pillow. You slowly pulled your hand from his shirt and touched his cheek instead. His face was warm to the touch, and smooth. You brushed your thumb softly from side to side, and this was enough to stir Roger a little. He opened his eyes slowly, only about halfway. His hand pressed to your back a little more firmly as he smiled.

“Morning, love.” His voice was husky from sleep, but it was offset by the look in his eyes. You twirled a strand of his hair between your fingers, and scooted a little closer to him.

“Good morning.”

The two of you stayed there for a few minutes, before you got up to go change. You smiled at Roger’s groans of complaint when you rolled out of bed. When you emerged from his room, still wearing your clothes from the night before, you looked down the hallway before hurrying up the stairs. The house was quiet, and it seemed that everyone had gone downstairs for breakfast already.

Which was good; you didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. God forbid someone see you coming out of Roger’s room in your clothes from the previous day and think you’d slept with him. It wasn’t anyone’s business, but knowing the guys, they’d tease you both out of the county for getting caught on a walk of shame.

The following week passed in a blur of messily-written new songs, a fresh series of photo prints, and many, many stolen kisses from Roger. He’d often pull you aside after dinner to press a trail of kisses from your mouth to the collar of your shirt. If Roger ducked outside for a smoke break during recording sessions, you’d grab him by the chin and pull his mouth to yours.

You’d somehow managed to never be found during these moments aside, but the guys weren’t stupid. They noticed the light smear of lipstick on Roger’s mouth when he came back inside. They noticed the looks you two shared over the dinner table. But you didn’t care. Being around Roger was the closest thing you had ever experienced to happiness with another person.

And however much you didn’t care, Roger cared even less. He mentioned your photography to the guys frequently, telling them about a particularly good (“bloody brilliant, you guys!”) shot you’d taken during rehearsals. He asked Deacy for advice on how to formally ask you out, to which Deacy rolled his eyes but told Roger everything he had done successfully with Veronica.

So, five days after he first kissed you by the fence outside the farm, Roger came to your door with another bouquet of dahlias.

“These are beautiful, Roger. Thank you.”

You beamed at the pretty, pink blooms in Roger’s hand and leaned in to kiss him. He accepted the kiss gratefully, immediately leaning down to you. You fidgeted with his collar, reveling in the sweet and smoky taste that you’d come to associate with Roger. You pulled away to take the flowers to the vase atop your dresser, smiling to yourself.

Roger closed the door behind him while you fiddled with the flowers. When you turned back to him, he was running a hair through his hair nervously.

“Something on your mind?” You raised an eyebrow and walked back over to him. Roger let out a breath, and shoved his hands in his pockets. His body language was starting to make you nervous, and you folded your arms.

“Yes, actually. I, uh… Whew, sorry,” Roger chuckled nervously. You must have looked concerned, but Roger’s face softened, he quickly reached forward to rub your arms.

“Everything’s alright, love,” he assured you, hands settled at your elbows. You gave him a half-hearted smile, still afraid of what he might say next.

“I just haven’t done this in a while with someone I care about,” Roger explained. You were just confused at that point, and waited for him to finish. His hands fell back to his sides.

“I, uh… I wanted to know if you’d like to go to dinner with me?” Roger rushed through the last few words, and it took you a moment to process what he said. But then, when his words hit you, you burst out laughing out of sheer relief. Roger gave you a confused frown, his eyebrows slanting with concern. You placed a hand on your chest, as if to steady your rapidly-beating heart. But then you flung your arms around his neck and kissed him fully.

“Roger Taylor,” you laughed, pulling away, “you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“What, what’d I do?” Roger smiled a little, putting his arms around your waist. You shook your head, grinning up at him.

“You got all serious, and scared me!” You answered, giving him a light shove to the chest. Roger laughed, and a light blush came to his cheeks.

“Well, I was nervous! Been a moment since I’ve properly asked a girl on a date!” Roger replied, pulling you closer. Your hands fell to his collar, as they often did when Roger was holding you close like that. It was cathartic, in a way, to play with the fabric while you talked to him. It was grounding for the both of you.

“Did you think I would say no?” You cocked an eyebrow at him. Roger shrugged, clasping his hands on the small of your back.

“Well, not necessarily,” he smirked. You shook your head at his cockiness, smiling coyly. But Roger became serious again, brows furrowing.

“So, is that a yes?”

You rolled your eyes, and moved your hands up to weave into his hair.

“Yes, Roger,” you kissed him, “I would love to go to dinner with you.”

So Roger took you into town the following night, insisting that you both dress up for your first date. It was incredibly endearing to watch his face light up when you came down the stairs in your only formal dress. It was a navy blue cocktail dress, and although it wasn’t your favorite look, it gave you great joy to see Roger’s mouth fall open. He fidgeted with his cuffs a little as you approached him, and the thought of this cool, arrogant rock star being nervous for a date made you smile.

Roger drove you to a swanky restaurant in town, telling you to wait while he jogged around the car to open your door for you. The meal went well, and the two of you stayed there, talking and drinking, until well after dark.

You were happy. You and Roger still hadn’t slept together, at his behest, but you hardly had time to be annoyed with him. The two of you spent your free time walking around the farm, arms around each other, talking about anything that came to mind. Late nights stretched into early mornings, with you and Roger usually falling asleep in your room.

At some point, Roger had brought his guitar up to your room, to play you a new song he was trying to write. You loved the song, but sleep overtook you as you lay sideways next to him while he played. Roger simply leaned his guitar against the chair your camera was sitting on, and laid down next to you, falling asleep shortly after.

But those idyllic days on the farm were numbered. And you both knew this. But still, you and Roger enjoyed the bucolic lifestyle that came with staying at the farm.

One day, as the completion of the album drew nearer, you were sitting in the studio box with your camera as the guys recorded in the live room. The phone next to the soundboard rang between takes, and the audio engineer reached over absentmindedly to pick up.

“H’llo? Uh-huh. Yeah, she’s right here.” And with that, the guy handed you the phone and returned to his work. You frowned, holding the receiver, unsure of who would be calling you. But when you pressed your ear to the phone, a familiar voice crackled across the line.

“Hello?”

“Oh, thank God. Why haven’t you called me?” Your mom sounded fretful. You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Hi, Mom.”

“It’s been two weeks since you’ve called. I was worried sick!”

“I’m sorry, Mom, it’s been crazy here. I didn’t mean to worry you. Did Uncle Jim tell you about my photography?” You attempted to deflect, but your mother was worked up, and ignored your question.

“And when are you coming home? You’ve been there for two months.”

“I don’t know, Mom. Wasn’t the whole point of staying here, to get away from everything?”

Your mom huffed out a sigh. “Well, yes, for a brief escape. Not to just move to England forever!” You rolled your eyes, already finding the conversation overlong.

“I’m not gonna be here forever,” you replied, exasperated. “It’s just that I’m waiting to hear back from the record company. The band’s manager wants to use my photos to promote the album, and they’re going to call any day. To tell me which pictures they want to use,” you trailed off, hoping your mom would appreciate the good news. But she was determined to be upset.

“Have you taken any classes?”

“I—well, no.”

“Gotten a job?”

“Potentially, weren’t you listening?” You were starting to get annoyed.

“It just seems too good to be true. If they like your pictures, what then? You just stay there, with the rock stars? Living in a dream, like you’ve been doing?”

For some reason, that statement really bothered you. Maybe you were just irritable at being faced with reality. Maybe it was the tone she took, or the way she worded it.

But you found yourself more determined than ever to make something of this getaway. Because your time on the farm had become meaningful to you. It wasn’t just an escape. You weren’t just living in a dream.

You were recovering.

Recovering from the shock you’d undergone at the loss of your dad. Recovering from the shift in your worldview. Recovering from the guilt you’d piled on yourself since that day in the hospital room with the beige floors.

“You know what,” you began, through gritted teeth. “It is like living in a dream. I have friends here now. I have Uncle Jim. I have—”

You looked up at that moment, to see Roger in the live room. He was saying something to Brian, a wide smile across his face. The sight of him brought you out of the haze of anger, and you experienced a splitting moment of clarity. No matter what, being here was worth it.

“I have everything I need here,” you finished, in a gentler tone. Mom exhaled, and you heard it, miles away, across the Atlantic.

“You’re living in a bubble, Y/N. Please come home.”

The sincerity of her tone caused you to falter. Your eyelids fluttered as you pulled your gaze away from Roger. He was joking with Freddie, who was doing a ridiculous pose on the drum risers.

“I will, Mom. When I’m ready.”

“Okay. I love you,” she replied, sounding defeated.

“I love you, too,” you said flatly, and hung up.

You had forgotten you weren’t alone until the sound engineer gave you a concerned side eye. You folded your arms.

“Sorry, Todd. Don’t tell anyone?”

The sound engineer named Todd nodded as he fiddled with the switches on the board. For all his stoicism, you were certain he could keep a secret.

“Thanks.” You left the building with tears in your eyes. Roger looked up toward the control room just as you picked up your camera. He could tell, even at a distance, that something was wrong. He knew your face well enough to tell that you were trying not to cry. You avoided looking at the guys as you exited the control room and ducked through the door without a word.

You were tired of being a mess in front of everyone, so you resolved yourself to sobbing out your frustrations in your bedroom.

Roger was staring at the door the entire time he played, even as the band finished recording their song. He wanted to go after you, but wasn’t sure if you wanted time alone. The guys noticed the funny look on his face, but didn’t say anything. When the session was wrapping up, Brian finally spoke up.

“What happened with Y/N?”

“God knows,” Freddie said, not really paying attention. He was still sitting at the piano, scribbling something on a loose piece of paper. “Anyone up for drinks in town?”

Roger ignored Fred’s question, looking from Brian, to Deacy, to the door you’d exited. Deacy had enough of Roger’s cluelessness, and broke the silence. “Oh for God’s sakes—go after her, Roger,” he told Roger, exasperated, pointing at the door. “See if she needs anything.”

“Right,” Roger responded quickly, rushing to get around his drums. Deacy rolled his eyes, but his heart was warm. Roger’s intentions were good, even if he needed a little encouragement sometimes. He found you in the attic, trying to fix something on your camera that wasn’t broken. By the time you walked to your room, the lump in your throat had disappeared. But you were still uneasy.

“Hey, love,” Roger’s soft voice hummed through the wide room.

“Not now, Roger.”

“Yes, now,” he insisted stubbornly. You frowned at him, still holding your camera.

“What happened?”

“My mom called.”

You were met with confused silence from Roger.

“She said I’m living in a dream, that I can’t stay here forever,” you sighed. It seemed this sentiment had not occurred to Roger either, and his face fell. But after a moment of thought, his eyes sparked.

“Maybe not, but that’s not the end of things. We can make it work,” he told you, looking hopeful and a little excited. You frowned at the floor, then at the Nikon in your hands. Before you realized what you were doing, you pulled the camera to your face. It created a barrier, gave you some control.

But through the lens, you saw Roger sigh and step nearer to you. He reached out and gently pushed the camera down, away from your face. You frowned, refusing to make eye contact.

“Don’t hide. You were so certain before. What happened to that?” His voice was low, gentle. It made you want to cry again.

“My mom,” you answered bitterly, looking him in the eyes. But Roger was confused, and stayed silent.

“She’s got a point, Rog. We’re living in a bubble. Eventually, I’m gonna have to go home, and you’re gonna have to tour.”

“Well, she’s half-correct,” Roger admitted. You frowned, unsure of his meaning. “You’re gonna have to go home at some point. And I’ve got the band. But,” he continued, pulling your camera out of your hands slowly. He set it down on the chair next to his guitar, then returned to you.

“That doesn’t mean we’re living in a bubble right now. This is happening.” He took your hands in his, squeezing them gently. You stared at his fingers, lost for words.

“Hey,” he pulled one hand away, and used it to tilt your chin up. The feeling of his fingers on your face sent tingles down your spine. You stared hard at him, trying not to be emotional.

“Please don’t be sad,” he urged. When you said nothing, Roger released your hands and crossed the room to your dresser. There, he smiled at the most recent flowers he’d given you. They sat in a blue vase, next to your pictures. But between them, sat an old radio. It was a little dusty, having gone unused in a house full of live music.

But Roger turned it on, and tuned it to the first clear station he could find. The small speakers crackled to life, filling the attic with a slow, bluesy song.

I’ve found my thrill On Blueberry Hill When I found you

“Dance with me,” Roger told you, holding out a hand and doing a ridiculous bow. You rolled your eyes, but felt the sting of anxiety fading. So you took his hand, and put your other arm around his neck. Roger was a decent dancer when he wasn’t trying to act a fool, and he guided you in slow circles across the room.

The moon stood still On Blueberry Hill And lingered until My dream came true

The lyrics were sweet, comforting. The melody, coupled with Roger’s fingers drumming softly on your waist, turned your mouth up at the corners. And, without warning, Roger began to sing along, swaying you side to side a little.

“For you were my thrill,” he sang, to your giggling. “On Blueberry Hill…”

You were smiling wide and bright by the time the song ended. Roger finished the dance with a small flourish, lifting your hand and urging you to do a small twirl. Which you did, much to his delight.

Roger grinned at you as he released your hand. You rubbed your arms, and stepped back to him. The next song began, an upbeat swing bop.

“Feel better?” He asked, looking genuinely hopeful. You rested your forehead against his shoulder, prompting him to wrap his arms around you in one of his characteristically comforting hugs.

“Yes,” you mumbled into his shirt. Roger kissed the side of your head, still tapping the beat of the last song onto your waist.

“Good.”

“Thank you,” you pulled back to look at him. Roger answered with a peck to your lips, and a wide grin.

“Any time, love. Can’t have my girl worried.”

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