#clutching his pearls with a deadpan expression

[leviathanswingman]

Really, Solomon?

[deadsetobsessions]

“DIDJA SEE THAT, DANNY?!” Tim, a scrawny eleven year old now, excitedly smacked Danny’s arm.

“Ow. Yes, yes I did.”

“Oh, gosh, I have to tell Jazz about this!!” The kid waved his arms about wildly, grinning from ear to ear.

“Jaso- I mean, Robin, smiled at me! And said he liked my t-shirt!! Oh my god, he likes literature puns, he even laughed! And then he punched the bad guy in the face! Look! I even saved the tooth!”

“Okayyy, nope!” Danny plucked the tooth and tossed it, ignoring Tim’s betrayed face. “I’ll trade you that for this.”

Danny Held out a piece of paper with Robin’s and Batman’s sigil on it, from when he asked them to sign it after they “saved” the two brothers from the two-bit thugs trying to mug them.

“Oh. My. God. This is like the best day of my life!! I love you, Danny! You’re the best brother ever!! Oh my god! I have to get Nightwing’s signature!!!”

Danny felt a rush of warmth at Tim’s proclamation of affection. Ah, he should probably step in.

“Hey, wait, no, we’re not going to Blüdhaven for you to stalk another vigilante.”

“It’s not just any old vigilante-!” Tim ignored Danny’s dramatic clutching-pearls gesture of mock hurt. “It’s Nightwing. The original Robin! He gave me my first ever hug!”

Danny paused. God dammit.

“…Fine.”

“YESSSSSS!!!!”

——

Danny-

“I’m gonna be Robin whether you want me to or not!”

-is so damn tired.

“Tim. I’m literally a vigilante ghost. What makes you think I’d be stupid enough to argue with a kid who runs around Gotham at night to take pictures of other vigilantes?”

Tim deflated. “Oh. Honestly, I thought you’d put up more of a fight…”

Jazz laughed and ruffled Tim’s hair. “I definitely couldn’t stop Danny when he went out. He trusted me to support him and I trusted him to come to me if he was injured, though. Can you promise me that, Tim?”

“Yeah… okay, Jazz, I promise.” Tim promised, even if he was still pouty.

Danny chimed in.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m totally worried and I’m gonna hover like a mother hen when you go out, but again, I know how stubborn and crazy we vigilante types have to be.” Danny paused. “Do you want me to put up a token protest?”

Tim nodded, sulking. “Yes, please. I had a speech planned out.”

Jazz and Danny exchanged amused glances.

“Oh, okay, my bad, kiddo. Here, let’s start from the top.”

“Okay. Ahem,” Tim straightened his back, settling into his previous mulish expression once more. “I’m gonna be Robin whether you want me to or not!”

Danny placed an appropriately disapproving frown on his face. “No, you can’t! It’s dangerous! You could get hurt! You’re just a child!”

Tim launched into his speech. “But I can’t stay still and do nothing when people are getting hurt! Even…!”

They were gonna be here for a while. There was definitely something about Batman going on a spiral because Jason wouldn’t be able to walk again after the Joker got to him. Danny wondered if ectoplasm could help. He might offer, if it actually had a change of getting Tim out of the vigilante business.

But that’s for later, because they had time. Jazz was on Spring Break… and they’re still staying here for free, after all of these years.

“So, how are you going to convince Robin to let you be Robin?” Jazz asked Tim.

Tim froze. “I… hadn’t thought of that yet.”

“Well, you could always remind him of the fact that we saved him from the Joker. He seemed pretty ready to leave the Robin mantle, the last time I saw him as Phantom.”

“I don’t want to blackmail him into it!” Tim whined.

“It’ll just be a suggestion, Tim.” Jazz smiled patiently.

“Besides,” Danny continued, smirking mischievously at his adopted little brother. “If you were actually blackmailing him, you’d pull out the photos where he ate dirt.”

“I guess that’s true…” Tim mumbled. “I know! I’ll have to follow them to see how I can best approach him!”

"I think that's called stalking," Jazz deadpanned.

"Well, it's not any worse than what he's already done." Danny shrugged at his older sister. "Sure, kid. Why not? Do whatever you want."

"I was planning to!" Tim bounced off to grab his photography gear. Jazz stared off after him.

"Should we be encouraging that?"

"More like can we actually stop him?" Danny leaned back, lazily completing his GED assignments. Jazz sighed.

"Guess not. Make sure he doesn't get in trouble."

"Do you even know how hard that is, Jazz?" Danny complained, dodging the whack Jazz sent at the back of his head. She smirked at him.

"Womp, womp, Danny. How does karma taste today?"

Danny flipped her off as he put the last punctuation on the paper. He heard a clatter and groaned.

“I’m gonna go watch Tim stalk Batman for the night. Want anything from the store?”

Jazz hummed. “Get me the specialty strawberry ice cream, from that one place?”

“The one that’s definitely a front for Falcone’s money laundering??”

“Yeah. They make good strawberry ice cream.”

“Sure.”

Danny went ghost and flew straight through the walls to catch Tim sneaking out by the scruff of his collar.

“No. Bad Tim.”

“Awww, come on Danny!”

[st4rbwrry]

━━ 𝑘𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚 .ᐟ satoru + getou.

warnings 𑄽𑄺 2.9k. fem chubby reader, lowercase intended, she/her pronouns, black coded, threesome but getou’s our boyfie so boyfriend’s best friend trope!, anal + vaginal penetration, oral [ f ], handjob, a few lil gay moments teehee, getou is kinda insecure, satoru takes most of the lead, spitting, choking, check ins, impact play, praising, condom use, cockwarming, creampie, potential polyamory?, minors aren’t welcomed!

━━━ ꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 .ᐟ ꒱ ; dedicated to my bestie bc she harassed me about a getou + gojo fic since i never continued impure :/ <3 @thecoochiefairy

their postures are statue-like once you step foot out of the bathroom, both men eyeing you from head to toe, getou instantly standing to his feet with clammy hands he rested on his hips. satoru remained seated, legs spread as he groaned and pulled at his soft snow hair. they were lost for words. while they were busy finding a bar to grab a drink at the mall, you wandered off in search of a lingerie set, finding a simple pearl white babydoll, sheer mesh bodice, an open flyaway back, and matching panty set. it made you feel pretty, so you wore it for them.

their silence made your heart race nervously, playing with the fabric as your eyes flicker between the two faces, waiting for a response.

"you like it?" your voice is quiet as a mouse.

"i love it," they say in unison. getou blinks, forgetting he was here, honestly.

"you're fuckin' gorgeous, baby," satoru finally stands, being the first one to walk towards you, cupping the side of your face in his palm. you grow hot immediately. "stunning."

even though you've never had the slightest sexual encounter with satoru, the way he had your mind running wild with imagination was near insanity. of course, it was wrong to think of another man while clearly in a committed relationship. but, it was impossible when he was always around you. making jokes here and there about clearly wanting to fuck you. the infatuation was clear as day. you hated your attraction to him. that's why you had to do this, why you wanted it. both of them at once. your feelings were mutual towards them equally, and the sexual tension would never ease unless this happened. plus, it was your birthday. and as your gift, you asked getou for this one thing. your puppy dog eyes making him unable to object.

"give me your hands," you hold out both of yours, getou swallowing and coming forward to gently clasp your small hand, satoru doing the same before you smile and turn, the men stumbling behind you with their eyes on your ass, guiding them towards the bedroom.

a rush of confidence sparks through you now. you've been wanting this for so long, so it's only right that you show them. closing the door behind them, they stare ahead, looking down to see your fingers delicately skid across their abdomens, lifting their shirts and moaning at the abs on both of their bodies. they were toned, buff in the arms but nothing steroid-like. deeply cut v-lines and slim waists. you nearly drool from the feel, desperate to clutch their waists as they fucked you hard without a care.

"baby," it's clear you're referring to getou by the purr in your voice, tits pressed firmly against his side as he looks down at you with a clench of his jaw.

"mhm?" is how he responds, trying his best to remain complacent.

"take control," you bat your lashes. "it's your pussy before his."

getou groans, satoru's grin is sadistic, finding himself clasping your wrist, taking your attention from your boyfriend and burning his eyes in your own, tugging you near him. he caresses your face admirably, humming.

"aren't you obedient," satoru's palm slaps against the side of your cheek as he chuckles, and to getou's point of view, it's absurdly violent. you've never felt this spark before, the action making your heart thump with excitement. the look on your boyfriend's face was pure anger, that deadpanned expression only meaning that he was ready to snap. satoru tries to do it again, but is stopped as soon as getou catches his wrist forcefully.

"are you asking to die?" getou seethes, satoru only raising a brow, no remorse.

"you're really blind, huh?" satoru laughs, side-eyeing you. "she likes it. don't tell me your sex life is that dull."

getou inhales, releasing his wrist once you touch the side of his face reassuringly, smiling hazily. "i like it, it's okay."

he's stuck. not sure how to respond nor react. there's so much more he has to know about you. teach himself about. even though it's only been four months into your relationship, he feels like a stranger, uneducated about your sexual desires. now he's concerned if he pleasures you enough or not. maybe this was a lesson. maybe he should let satoru do most of the work and observe while still being present. watch your reactions to things he says or does that rile you up. there was nothing wrong with being taught.

"tell me what you want," getou clenches his jaw, grabbing the back of your head and tugging softly. getou was extremely soft and caring during sex, and although you were fond of it, sometimes you wanted him to be the opposite. "i'll give you anything. just say it."

warmth fills your chest, so entranced by his sweetness. your eyes lock with satoru's, "wanna ride his face."

satoru tongues his inner cheek, looking you up and down once more. " 'course you do."

getou has his eyes on you the entire time, those big eyes of yours wide with anticipation. "can i?”

"don't ask me with that innocent tone. you're anything but," getou grunts, taking you back by his side possessively. "come sit on me."

you follow like a lost puppy, getou taking his seat on the middle of the bed, one leg propped up as you crawl on your hands and knees to him, your face in his hands he caressed gently with his thumbs, kissing you and admiring you a while longer. satoru stands behind you, tilting his head to the side to capture a picture of the cute set on your body, his hands on your ass he brings back to rub the outline of his jean-clad cock against, groaning.

"fuck, you're really soft," his hand gropes your ass hard and it makes you whine, getou watching as you bite your lip and brush back against satoru who's dry humping you through the mesh thong you wore. "my dick is so fuckin' hard right now."

you swear your clits pulsating like a goddamn vibrator, moaning into getou's mouth after he kisses you, his eyes dark and pointed viciously in satoru's way, shoving his tongue in your mouth, barely paying you attention. he's watching satoru, making sure he takes care of you, doesn't hurt you. because if he did, he'd have to hurt him. satoru chuckles from the quiet obvious threat, molding your flesh in his rough palms. you're arching your back like a cat, panting in your boyfriend's mouth who's aware of your body sensitivity. the smallest touches leaving you feral. a cool breeze of air hits your soaked core as satoru pulls your panties to your knees, raising them so they're off fully, needing access to every region.

"fuck, that's a nice ass pussy," satoru grins, knitting his dark brows together, crystal blue eyes darting between getou and your weeping cunt. you yelp when two of his fingers brush over your clit, sliding it up to your core he taps a few times and hums. then he's bringing his fingers to his nose, liking the smell before he's sucking them off. "damn, this really all yours?"

getou rolls his eyes after satoru whistles, not waiting for him to say anything, which he doesn't, blocking him out anyways. it's all about you. he wants you and he's gonna stay focused on that. he's lowering to his knees on the ground, positioning your thighs so they're spread wider, barely preparing you before he's literally kissing at your cunt with tongue, like full on making out with it. you shudder instantly, mouth dropping and gripping at getou's thigh as satoru grunts and slurps up your juices, thrusting those same fingers into you. your eyes widen partially when his tongue trails up to your puckering hole, spitting, then kissing it up, bobbing his head up and down the entirety of you.

"ooo, my god. . ." you gasp, grinding back against his face, blindly tugging at the waistband of getou's jeans, getou studying you as your face turns in ecstasy, fumbling with your hands as you pull out his cock, whimpering as you spit into your small hand before wrapping it around to pump. getou clenches his jaw, placing his hand over yours to stoke it together, his bubblegum lips pouty as he kisses you hard, swallowing your moans.

"like fuckin' candy," satoru kisses your clit hard, lips wet before he's sucking on it hard, tongue moving everywhere, skidding over your thighs as he laps you up with a deep ‘fuck’, jaw moving side to side and his hand spanking your ass slow like he's drunk, the impact hard. it's a pattern, his spews of fuck become monotonous the more he eats at it.

fuck. spank, then moved his mouth. fuck. spank, then applies more pressure with his tongue. fuck. spanks you ten times harder, then growls. it was driving you mad, unable to stop shifting your ass.

"he's not gonna stop until you cum," getou says, now holding your throat in his hand, your face contorted as you whine.

"not once," satoru counters, getou looking over your shoulder with a brow raised, eyes trailing back to yours without disagreement.

"more than once."

"m'almost there," you cry, his mouth all too good, never reaching an orgasm this quickly.

"are you?" getou hums tauntingly, running the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. you nod, your breath hitching as he bites your lower lip and sucks, blood rushing. you jerk your hand faster, keeping it on the tip like he liked, getou folding easily, hips twitching.

"gonna give it to me?" satoru asks, never ceasing his assault, in love with the way your knees buckle.

"nnn, yea," you chew on your lips, already fucked out. not prepared for what they had in store for you next.

"yeah?" satoru mocks your tone, stuffing his fingers into you and moving to your desired pace. your vision goes static like an old television when you cum, falling forward to rest your cheek on your boyfriend's chest, both the men half stripping throughout your fixation. getou stops you from pulling at his dick, afraid he'll cum too quick. you have that affect on him.

satoru doesn't stop when you cum, he keeps going, more than once, he said. and he meant it. it's worse when getou pulls you up to suck on your neck, tugging at the hardened buds of your nipples , both men touching you at once was filthy, your head buzzing and your mouth nonstop with pornographic sonances. satoru takes his breath when he stands, licking you off his lips as if you were the best fucking dessert he's ever had. while you're left breathless, getou and satoru are pulling off the rest of their clothing, achingly hard they couldn't stand it any longer. you could read them well, especially getou, knowing when he's near done.

getou lays on his back and he pulls you on top of him, your messy face still so adorable. satoru grabs the bottle of lube and two condoms stashed in his drawer before coming back to the bed, brushing the white hair from his face and staring down at you as you turn to look behind yourself, teasing him by grinding your hips midair. satoru snickers, climbing on the bed and resting on his knees. he looks at getou.

"you go first."

your smile is lazy, hugging your man by his neck and cradling your face between it. getou holds out his hand, satoru passing him a condom, the gold packaging being torn with his teeth before he's tossing it aside and sliding it down his cock resting on his stomach.

"lift your hips," getou rasps, hands calloused on either side of your thighs, helping you up till he's sinking you down on it, stretching you good like he always does. you whimper by his ear, clenching your cunt around him once he's fully inside, swaying your ass, belly to belly as you grind and say his favorite word he liked to hear most of all from you; his name.

after satoru's secure, he spreads the lubricant over himself and then some on his fingers he uses to prep you. your cute little hole tensing when the heat from them grazes you, satoru telling you to take a deep breath and relax yourself before he's pressing against the unused entrance. you gasp when he managed to get them in, carefully thrusting past his knuckles. his fingers were as long as getou's. getou tries not to lose it, your pussy warming his cock with little to no movement. satoru continues to prep you for two more minutes, wanting to make sure he eases the discomfort just a bit.

"satoru," you whimper his name, giving him permission to take his turn.

it's a clear signal, and he doesn't waste time, towering over you and pinning down your lower back to arch you a little more. getou soothes you by caressing the sides of your legs, as well as smoothing them over your back. satoru aligns his reddened cockhead to your hole, kissing up your back as he gently pushes into you, inch by inch. the unknown stretch burns, getou turning his head to whisper comforting words to keep your mind off the pain, lifting his hips to fuck into you. the mixture of pain and pleasure has you clawing at his shoulders.

halfway in, satoru decides to bring you up, clutching your chin and getting his turn to taste your lips, sliding, slowly, deeper inside the longer his mouth moved with yours, getou observing you both.

"it's good? you're good?" satoru says in between breaths, hips so close to touching your ass.

"m'good. move, please."

it's enough to make both men move in sync, satoru biting at your neck with his face scrunched up, eyeing getou beneath you. the pain subsides, and all you feel are the tingles in the pit of your stomach, dragging out your moans as they both pounded into you, satoru finally getting deep like he wanted since you relaxed more.

"jesus, fuck . . . mmm," for some reason, the erotic expression on satoru's face makes getou blush, biting his lip as he watches the two of you lose yourselves. how you scratch at his shoulder and the elicit eye roll satoru does. getou never thought he'd feel like this, or like seeing you fuck another man so much.

"you look pretty as fuck taking both of us," getou grunts, smacking at your tits and you keen in shock. satoru must be getting to him now. you scream as the two men fuck you like they'd lost their sanity, gushing around getou's cock while satoru aggressively knocks his dick into you, both following each other's rhythms for you. your skin clashing, pouncing back on them.

"shit," getou whimpers, hips stuttering as he cums inside his condom, chest heaving erratically. you rush your hand over his hair, tugging and riding them still. satoru has his arm around your neck now, slamming his hips against your ass which makes you let go of getou, holding onto his forearm as your tongue lolls out and satoru switches positions.

you're lifted off getou, satoru tossing his condom off to slide into your sluice cunt, groaning and closing his eyes from the new feeling.

"cum inside me," it has getou stunned since you've never said that once, deathly afraid of the idea of pregnancy. maybe you gained a breeding kink overnight. he wonders what videos you researched prior to this that sparked this sudden fantasy to be dominated by two men, two roommates, two new best friends.

"was doing that anyways," he licks the shell of your ear with a malicious cackle. "bet you'd let me fuck you raw every day if it meant I'd get to fill you up."

"yess, baby," you weep, out of your mind entirely.

"baby?" satoru whistles, glaring at getou who only blinked. what's up with you? were you under his spell or something? "i like that. you tryna' make one with me?"

"get smacked," getou threatens.

satoru only grins, grabbing your chin and pressing his nose to your cheek, keeping his eyes on getou. "don't wanna be a daddy with me? it'd be fun. I'll push the stroller and you hold her hand so she doesn't trip with the other kid in her belly."

"cut it," getou seethes.

"you're no fun," satoru pouts, still fucking you back on his dick like it's nothing, your head spinning. his attentions back on you. "say it one more time for me."

"baby," you slur, swallowing the extra saliva built up in your mouth from drooling, giggling when he groans in approval.

"good fuckin' girl," satoru hisses, yanking you back hard, like some rag doll, your screams softening the longer he prolonged, balls slapping against your sticky clit and your tits bouncing so cutely in your babydoll set.

you slap your hands on getou's torso once you cum for your third time, tone drowning out by satoru's who growls and paints your tight walls white, your legs frantically twitching as you fall forward, getou swallowing, endlessly fascinated by you as he rubs you to cool you down.

"wanna watch it drip," satoru keens, raising your ass and holding the dip of your spine down, licking his lips as he watches the way his cum glides from you. "damn, i think it's my birthday, honestly."

you're spent, still shaky and barely having air left in your lungs. satoru leans over you, kisses your cheek with a loud 'muah!' before doing the same to getou, only he kisses him on the lips.

"don't kiss me, asshole!" getou splutters, palm over satoru's face as he shoved him away. you giggle weakly into your boyfriend's chest, reaching behind yourself to keep satoru pressed to your back for warmth, the three of you snuggled up comfortably.

“thank you babe,” you smile, elated.

“you’re welcome, baby,” they say in unison.

getou rolls his eyes, a petty grunt released. “she’s not talking to you.”

“s’okay, her pussy did,” satoru cackles, kissing your cheek with tongue to piss the black-haired man off even further. he remains silent. this time.

© 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖊. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[pookacangetit]

Disney Song!Yuu [Christmas Edition: A Wayward Santa Claus]

It's Winter Break and Yuu's spending the time of their life relaxing at school! Wait, what do you mean Crowley held a ball? WHY ARE THEY PERFORMING AS SANTA CLAUS???

♤MERRY CHRISTMAS♤

MASTERLIST

"Who is Santa Claus?"

Yuu paused at the question, turning to Grimm with a fixed smile on their face, "An old man who lives in the North Pole with his wife and elves visiting kids that are good all year and gifts them presents they like. If they're not good they get coal or Krampus."

Grimm meowed, "ok... will Santa come give me tuna cans because I was good all year?"

......

That's how Yuu ended up dressed as a thrifty santa claus visiting Grimm during Winter Break, only Crowley kidnapped them afterwards and had them performed for the school's Yuletide Ball in a... different Santa Claus outfit.

"When, where and how did you get my exact measurements?" Yuu deadpanned, clutching the hem of the sexy Santa outfit mid-thigh.

Mr. Sam gave a thumbs up, "Our friends wouldn't be such good friends if they didn't know your size!"

Sighing, Yuu gingerly stepped onto the stage in their cherry-red heels, oblivious to Azul and many others sudden choking, their expressions as red as their dress as eyes were drawn to their bare thighs and downright sinful outfit wrapping the prefect like a gift of sin for the season.

The snow glows white on the mountain tonight

Not a footprint to be seen

A kingdom of isolation

And it looks like I'm the queen

Slowly, the elegantly decorated hall transformed into a wide open land of snow and mountains. Several Savanaclaws blinked and yawned from the sudden drop in temperature while many others shivered.

Floyd sneezed continuosly, "Ara ara, I really don't like this... can I kidnap the prefect to stop them singing and bring them to sing something else in the lounge?" He questioned seriously, "They can keep the outfit on of course, we just need to add some pearls."

Jade gently swiped his hand in a chopping motion, "There's too many eyes here, Floyd, we'll be mobbed the second you get close to the stage."

Really, the amount of times Floyd attempted to kidnap the poor prefect was staggering.

Let it go, let it go

I am one with the wind and sky

Let it go, let it go

You'll never see me cry

Here I stand and here I stay

Let the storm rage on

The shrieking started as Yuu twirled with out-stretched arms, snow blurring their figure as towering pillars of ice burst from the ground.

Several students started kowtowing and shouting about pumpkins for some strange reason.

"YUU WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Crowley screeched from somewhere in the crowd.

"BULDING A CASTLE!" Yuu casually admitted, albeit not paying attention to their words but rather focusing on the song and movie scene where Elsa was working her magic.

"ABUH SIQ9WEJD BULDING A WHAT?!"

More shrieking ensued as many hightailed out of the ballroom while some stayed, having noticed the pillars were shooting pass the ceiling like a magical illusion.

I'm never going back, the past is in the past

Let it go, let it go

When I'll rise like the break of dawn

Azul's glasses cracked as the prefect's outfit was engulfed by a swirl of snow which disappeared to reveal a beautiful icy-blue dress decorated with snowflakes. A see through cape made of pearl-coloured satin flew down the prefect's back.

Jade's hand quickly shot out to grab his brother before he could run full speed towards the stage, the remaining cult members standing guard be dammed.

"Jade-"

"Floyd."

His brother let out a whine as he made grabby hand gestures towards the prefect onstage.

The cold never bothered me anyway

Yuu: LET IT GOOOO~

Reaction A: DID THE GREAT ONE JUST CREATED AN ICE CASTLE?!?! *more added to the cult*

Reaction B: GREAT ONE IN A DRESS?!?! *more added to the other, other list*

[immortalbumblebee]

Chapter 11: Foreign Material

*nervous laughter* I'M SO SORRY I KNOW ITS BEEN LITERAL MONTHS. I swear to god I'm still in love with this series, and trust me when I say I'm getting more and more dedicated to forming a proper upload schedule.

As a gift to make up for my absence, I wanted to give y'all some extra content so...I kinda sorta made a character playlist for Min? Just a collection of songs that reminded me of her/I think she'd like! Hope this helps makes up for me being a terrible writer to all of you.

Masterlist

“You’re sure you’re good with this, Sewer Fish?” Benzo’s question should have been some comfort, but it wasn’t. Looking up at the towering structure in front of you, a large concrete structure with smokestacks reaching up to the cloudy sky above, dark smoke billowing out of them and across the river, you felt nothing but anxiety.

You flattened your hair for the hundredth time, the hair gel you had slathered into it feeling alien to you. “Can I be honest?”

“Would be pissed if you weren't."

“Not really.”

Benzo chuckled, but it wasn’t out of humour as he slung an arm around your shoulders outside those giant metal doors. Feeling the strong, miner arm of your best friend, you allowed yourself to breathe deeply; the topsider air tickling your lungs.

“You’ve got this. If anything happens, you have your escape routes. Just make a distraction and you’re gone.” Benzo attempted to comfort you.

“But…what if I don’t get the job at all? Then what? All this stress and planning for nothing? Getting Vander mad for no reward?” You sighed deeply. “I wish I had my dagger. I feel naked, and not in a fun way. If I get killed, my mom’s going to kill me..”

“Something tells me your new boss wouldn’t appreciate his new street-rat brandishing a weapon.” As Benzo let you go, you began fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt. “Niya said the job was pretty much yours, guaranteed. Just don’t show off how much smarter you are than all of them and you’ll be golden, Sewerfish. And don’t worry about all the rest of that; planning is a part of life, and Vander’ll cool down soon.”

The air seemed to get a little bit colder as you thought about your brutish friend. “He hasn’t said a word to me since I told him about this damn job!”

“Man has the attention span of a goldfish, soon he won’t even remember why he was upset to begin with." Benzo chuckled. "Since when are you so bothered by a guy, anyway? Aren’t you the one that’s always warning me about getting attached?”

“But-” “Look, if we go through every possible scenario, we’re going to be out here all week.” The deadpan look on his face reassured you that he was right. You couldn’t stand here overthinking all day, you had a job to get to.

“You’re right.”

“When am I not?” You slugged him in the arm for that one, but to his credit, it did make you giggle.

“Thanks for walking me, and for the shirt.” You offered a smile, and Benzo nonchalantly shrugged back.

“Thank Luoi, he’s the one that lets me take long lunches if I need to.” As he began to walk away, he pointed at you one last time. “Tell you what. If you survive today without pissing anyone off, we go out for drinks tonight. Your first round’s on me.”

You feign shock, moving your hand in a clutched-pearls expression. “You saying you wanna buy me a drink, Benzo? How forward.”

Rolling his eyes, Benzo turns his back and continues on his way. “Save the charm for your new boss, Fishie!”

Then he turned the corner and he was gone. And you were alone in front of the factory doors.

Meeting with Niya to tell her you wanted to accept the position had been bad enough for your anxiety, but crossing the bridge and travelling to the factory itself? To say you’d been sweating buckets as you walked in the heavy metal doors would have been an understatement. You weren’t sure what you’d be met with when you got there, as you'd only been told to look presentable and to bring your work papers.

The latter hadn’t been a problem, just a case of using the fake work papers you usually kept on-hand. ‘Looking presentable’, however, had been a completely different ballgame. You had nice clothes, but what did someone wear to a job interview on the rich side of town? For a factory job? Eventually, you wound up raiding Benzo’s closet and borrowing one of his good work shirts and a pair of simple trousers.

That was nice enough right? You hoped so, at least.

Taking one final deep breath to steel yourself, you opened the door and strolled in.

Being escorted from the front reception to the head supervisor’s office, you were struck by the notion that no factory had any business looking as nice as this one did.

The clean air was one thing, you'd left your bandana in your pocket because you’d expected the lighter air quality. But the whole damn place practically glimmered, not a drop of oil or rust in sight. The entry was decorated with framed photos of the factory over the years, leading to a heavy wooden desk where a receptionist sat on the other side. You barely spared the images a passing glance as you introduced yourself, affirming the time for your appointment. The assistant-a young girl-was prim and pretty, that much you could have expected. Speaking politely with a neutral expression, her hair was placed in a tight bun that pulled all her features up and back.

Then, before you could really even catch your bearings, you were escorted up to your new boss' office. As you climbed the spiralling staircase, you couldn't help but marvel at the polished hardwood that you stepped on. Hardly the right substance for heavy foot traffic. But the wood paled in contrast to the railings that kept the staircase in place; intricate spiralling patterns were woven with a shiny black metal that you weren't quite familiar with. It was beautiful, deep black similar to a starless night sky, that had seemingly been moulded and smithed to perfection as the patterns danced around one another until tying off at the end of the ascent. As much as you found yourself gawking at the masterful artistry, you couldn't help but wonder why someone would put so much effort and resources into a place like this. After all, it was a factory, not an art gallery. Who came to an industrial building expecting glamour?

Just as you thought you couldn't be anymore awed, you were let into a big-looking office, seemingly that of your new employer, and all your preconceived notions of what a factory should look like flew out the window. Light hardwood floors spanned the floor, save for a plush rug in the center, which drew the eye to the heavy wooden desk in the middle of the room. Above the desk was a giant crystal chandelier, something you'd only seen in ballrooms during big jobs. This was smaller than one you may find in a ballroom, but it was nonetheless spectacular and gaudy as it cast little glimmering lights across the walls and furniture. Your eyes tried to take in all the sights, assaulted by the sheer amount of belongings put into the room. Plush couches, beautifully crafted tables, a bird cage of some kind.

What the hell were you getting yourself into?

Stepping into the room of riches, you were welcomed by the superintendent and subsequently had to hold back a laugh behind a polite smile. The fact that he looked exactly as you’d expected was completely humorous in your mind, and you’d only wish the boys had been around to share in your amusement. A fat, white, and balding man in a fancy suit, smoking from a fancy pipe, sitting at a fancy desk with a bunch of fancy, useless paperweights on it. Suddenly, the room was beginning to make much more sense.

“Minerva, I presume.” The man called to you, tapping the end of his pipe into an ashtray. Looking at the pipe, which you could only assume was an antique based on the shape and design, you wondered if it was actually practical to use. But the subtle yellow staining in the man's otherwise silvery white mustache spoke for itself.

“Yes, Sir.” You nodded, making your way over to his desk with an extended hand. “Mr. Morichi, nice to meet you.” As you spoke, you were careful to hold your chin up and keep a watch on your accent.

He shook your hand, a tight but casual grip as a metal ring with his family crest dug into the meat of your fingers. “Morrison, please. Mr. Morichi was my father.” He had an easy smile, and you were reminded of the businessman smirk that Benzo often used when making deals.

“Morrison.” You corrected off-handedly.

He gestured to a soft leather seat across from his desk. “Please, sit.” You accepted the invitation, actively sitting on the edge with your stiff spine refusing to lean against the back. “Ms. Minerva, I’ve heard good things about you. One of my managers knows a friend of yours? Tells me you have quite a bit of experience in the field.”

For the next few minutes, the two of you have a polite back and forth discussing all the places you’ve worked over the years. Over 13 years, you'd made up an impressive resume working in just about every factory, blacksmith, and vendor shop in the Underground. This was only more remarkable thanks to the fact that practically every boss you'd had had nothing but good and kind things to say about you. This, you knew, would come in handy during this hiring process.

As you name a few of the more well-known places you'd worked, he nods and asks about the bosses working there, seeming to recognize them through business dealings.

“So you’re familiar with parts of the metal industry in the Fissures?” You ask politely.

He shrugs, taking a couple of puffs from his pipe. By now you’ve got a full smell of the tobacco between his lips, and recognize that it’s much lighter and smoother than the stuff you’re used to. “It’s a small city, Piltover. Even between the two ends, Top and Bottom side, people forget that sometimes. But when you’ve been working in this field for as long as I have…you make yourself familiar with every piece of possible competition that stands in your way.”

That was an interesting answer, knowing full well that the Morichi metal monopoly had bought out several of the larger factories in your home city. One of their bigger buy-outs had put about 4,000 people out of work. But you chose not to bring that up just yet

“Such an impressive resume. You've got the experience, and the references to prove it." Your smile grows, if only a little. "So why venture away from the Underground?”

Squaring your shoulders, you recalled your practiced answer in your mind’s eye. “I wanted to broaden my horizons...sir. Maybe by working here, I hope to encourage more collaboration between topside and the Underground, specifically when it comes to industry.” A generic interview answer, but Morison didn’t seem to mind as he just absently nodded while studying the paper in-hands.

“You’ve uh,” The man, Morrison, continues; “neglected to mention your skillset in this impressive resume of yours.”

Biting your lips, you clear your throat and continue; praying you sounded more confident in this whole thing than you felt. “If I may ask, what’s your opinion on mages, sir?”

He chuckles a bit at this. “Pretty sure you’re the one supposed to be interviewed here, Ms. Minerva.”

“Would you prefer not to answer the question?”

He smiles for a moment, holding off on his answer as bright blue eyes scan you over. You don’t flinch from his gaze. “You have backbone, kid. I appreciate that. But you got to be careful on this end of the city, you know. A lot of people see some little girl from the Underground and are going to misconstrue backbone for arrogance.”

“Not you though?”

“Lucky for you, no.” He puts down his pipe. “As I’ve mentioned, I’ve been in this business quite a while. My father owned this factory, and his father before him. I plan on retiring soon and passing it down to my son. And if there’s one lesson I want him to learn from me…is that business opportunities come in every shape and size.” You hesitate, waiting for this anecdote to lead somewhere notable...but it doesn't. You realize that, much like many Topsiders, this man just likes the sound of his own voice.

“And that’s what I am after all,” a sarcastic note slipping into your tone, “a business opportunity.”

“You’re a smart girl. You know better than to think this situation is anything otherwise.”

“To be frank, Ms. I want to be clear that this isn’t an act of charity or some sort of diversity ploy for good marketing,” Morrison explained. “Rest assured, this business holds no loyalty to you. If any of my staff finds you being light-fingered with the merchandise, you start causing conflict with the other employees, or you get on the wrong side of the law-” again, you had to hold back a smirk, “you will be sent out of here faster than a bat out of hell. Frankly, I don’t care that you’re a mage or whatever filthy, inbred, slum you come from, Politics is for the council to worry about. If hiring you means I get to pay fewer wages? Fantastic! But I will not tolerate Trencher Trash in my family’s factory, do I make myself clear?”

Trencher Trash, there it was.

Your teeth grit at this, and you could feel your nostrils flare angrily, but you remained still. Breath even, eyes locked on the man across from you as he raised his eyebrows expectantly. After a long, tense moment, however, your gaze softens and your lips pull into a polite smile.

“Crystal clear, Mr. Morichi.” You nodded. “And, as for my skill set-” with a singular beckoning motion of your finger, his pipe flies out of his hands and into yours. You catch it easily, smiling as his eyebrows shoot up ever so slightly at the sudden motion. “-I’m sure you will find them satisfactory for the job.”

After watching you with steady eyes for just a second more, Morrison reaches into a pile of paper, pulling out a few sheets you recognized as Piltover work papers and a proper liscence to use your mage powers on company grounds. You’d never had one of those mage licenses, never needed one in the Underground, and the whole concept felt very uncomfortable to you, like a leash. But with a heavy ‘thunk’, he presses a rubber stamp of his family crest onto the loose-leaf paper and then hands it to you.

“Glad to hear it! Welcome aboard, Ms. Minerva. I’ll call up your floor manager to give you the rest of your orientation.”

“Okay, okay.” Niya hiccuped, her face (much like your own) pink at the cheeks as she giggled slightly to herself. Leaning into her giggles, you muffled your own behind a closed fist. “But, like, seriously, Girlie! What was he like?”

“Morrichi?” You clarified, puffing a breath up to brush your hair out of your face. “Same generic self-entitled, full-of-himself, Topsider snob. Definitely hasn’t ever missed a meal before, if you know what I mean.” Despite being in a quieter corner of the pub, you still had to yell quite a bit so that Niya could hear you over the loud conversations and jukebox music. The place was packed for a weeknight, crammed like a can of sardines, and smelled just the same. The scent of body odour, ale, and smoke filled the air and created a rank atmosphere.

Niya rolled her eyes, finding your answer completely unhelpful. “Was he handsome? In his correspondence with the paper, I always imagined him as a silver-fox type.”

You made a gagging motion, face curling up into a cringe. “Niy’! He’s, like, 60!”

“Some 60-year-olds can be sexy!” She exclaims, lifting her hands defensively. “What about that, uhhh, floor manager you mentioned? Would you consider it?”

Yet again, you cringed before taking a sip of the ale you held in hand. Even the thought of possibly romancing any of your new ‘coworkers’ was enough to create a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. “Sure, Niya. Dorian could be considered attractive…if you could ignore the blatant prejudice against us Fissure-folk. He only referred to me as a 'sumprat', never by my name! Everyone in that factory is the same, that’s why I never fuck Topsiders…unlike some people.”

After another hiccup, Niya swayed in her seat and pointed an accusatory finger at you. Her dark skin was shiny with sweat, bringing out the natural glow that always seemed to encapsulate her. Even when she was sloppy-drunk…“Hey! Heyyyyy~ don’t be mean to meeeee! You said he was good when he was showing you the furnace-thing, right? That means he’s good with his hands! Plus...nothing like a prejudice-fueled hate-fuck, amIright Babes?”

You gapped at your friend for a long moment, utterly speechless, before reaching over and grabbing her half-drunken glass of wine. “Aaaand that’s enough for you tonight. You're ridiculously stupid-horny when you're drunk, you know that?”

Niya made a sort of half-hearted groan of disapproval as you set the glass away from her, leaning more onto the table. She may be an Underground native, but Niya was never able to drink with the rest of the Fissures, couldn’t hold her liquor to save her life. Two glasses of wine and she was done. Shaking your head, you downed the rest of your own ale and felt the heat in your cheeks grow and migrate down to the tips of your ears. Maybe you should think about slowing down yourself…

Feeling a soft touch on your shoulder, you turned to see the beautiful face of Skye, her long and silky purple hair draped over her shoulders and hooded eyes smiling at you as she floated to the corner table. Despite being clothed in just a ragged blouse and plain jeans, the way she carried herself had always struck you as nothing but graceful and elegant; almost akin to Topsider beauty. Behind her, Silco crept over and stood closer to where Niya was now fully slouched over the table. Upon seeing the two, Niya exclaimed their names excitedly, causing Silco to pat her head like a toddler.

“I didn’t know you were here tonight!” You smiled back at Skye, welcoming the friendly hug she offered. Back in their teens; Niya and Skye had been great friends, only for them to naturally grow apart when Niya took more of an interest in working topside, while Skye was more interested in getting married and settling down. They were still friendly these days though, as far as you knew.

“I just wanted to pop in for a little while and say congrats on the job. Benzo told us this morning on his rounds. I gotta say, was not expecting you to be the type to take Topsider cash.” You heard the inquisitive tone in her voice.

“Trust me, I’m not just doing it for the pay. Never hurts to have another pair of ears when it comes to those elitist sons-of-bitches, right?” You winked at her. “For Zaun.”

She smirked back. “For the rebellion.”

“You should tell her about the uniforms,” Silco smirked from his place across the table.

The woman’s eyebrows flew up. “Uniforms? What kind of factory is this?”

You sighed loudly, rolling your eyes. “Don’t even get me started. The damn place has me wearing a fucking dress, for Lady’s sake. I mean, talk about impractical.”

“Fucking Pilties.” Skye cursed, laughing dryly. “It’s kinda funny picturing you waltzing around a workfloor in a ballgown.”

“Oh fuck off, I may be a damn-fine dancer, but I don’t ‘waltz’ for anyone. I don’t care how good the pay is.” The three of you continued, discussing your various places of work (with the odd slurred mumblings of Niya thrown in every once in a while). After a while though, you began looking around the room.

“Speaking of factory workers though, is Narco here too? I haven’t seen him. I’d love to talk to him about some of the metals I was working with today.”

Skye shook her head. “Nah, he’s on babysitting duty for the night. When Benzo was telling everyone it was a pub night, I tried to convince him that Violet was just fine with my mom, but…one sad look from that girl and he refused to walk out the door. She has that man wrapped around her little finger, let me tell you.” After laughing a bit at her joke, she eyed Niya with concern. While you’d all been talking, the reporter had begun childishly poking into Silco’s ribs, much to the man’s annoyance. “How much has she had this time?”

“Two glasses of wine, not even.” You laughed and watched Silco slap her fingers away yet again. You tilted your head up to him. “How have you been making out tonight? You see where our boys wandered off to?”

“I think I saw Benzo leave with someone, didn’t see who though. Typical.” Silco explained. “Niya, Would you please stop–as for Vander…” His eyes danced behind you, and-somewhat hesitantly-you followed his gaze only to regret it a second later. Sitting at the bar, Vander was seated next to a guy you didn’t recognize. He was young, maybe a couple of years older than you lot, and very pretty. He also seemed to be laughing quite heartily at what Vander was saying. In return, Vander was smiling quite heartily as they chatted, not a care in the world. Stubbornly, you turned your head away, looking at your glass and wishing it wasn’t empty.

“Uh oh…” Skye muttered, squeezing your arm. “Do I sense some trouble in paradise?”

“Shouldn’t be.” Silco shrugged, although the twinkle in his eye made your skin crawl uncomfortably for some reason. “Right, Min?”

You paused for a second, staring angrily at your glass as though it was the root of all your problems, before swallowing the lump in your throat and looking back up; a smile now plastered on your face. Logically, you knew you shouldn’t be feeling mad right now. You and Vander weren’t together, never were. You’d chosen that path a long time ago, and both of you had had plenty of partners since. So why bother being upset about something like this?

Because the stupid, stubborn arsehole hadn’t spoken a word to you in days, that’s why.

“Right then." Your accent slipped for just a second, causing you to clear your throat before continuing. "Nothing to worry about. Can I get you guys a drink? A pitcher for the table, maybe?”

“Another wine!” A now very sleepy Niya exclaimed, but you just ignored her.

“I’ll take the house whiskey if you don’t mind.” Silco shrugged. “A nightcap. I think I should probably take our lovely Ms. Niya here home in a minute.” Looking down at your girl friend, you weren’t surprised to find her falling into slumber, lightly drooling on the table.

“Nah, I’ll do it.” Skye volunteered.

You frowned. “But I just bumped into you! You can’t leave yet!” But she just shook her head.

“It’s probably for the best… This may not be the best time to bring this up but-” her hands landed on her abdomen, a smile lifting the corners of her lips “-I can’t drink right now anyways.”

Your and Silco’s eyes sprang open, looking quickly to each other for confirmation before looking back at the purple-haired woman in front of you, who was now full-on grinning.

“You’re pregnant again?!” You exclaimed, rushing to hug her, all previous issues now wiped from your memory. “Since when?”

“Three months now. We wanted to tell everyone ASAP but Dr. Yan was real strict about waiting 'til the first trimester before telling anyone, just to be careful.”

“Congratulations!” Silco grinned, leaning in to give her a congratulatory handshake. “You two seem to be popping them out like rabbits, huh? Narco’s got to be thrilled.”

“You have no idea. He’s hoping it’s a boy this time.” She laughed. “And I don’t know if I’d say three years was ‘popping them out like rabbits’.”

You shook your head. “We’re just thrilled. It’s not common that kids in the Underground grow up with one awesome parent, never mind both of them. If more kids get to experience that then we’re excited for all of you.”

Skye smiles, shrugging modestly. “Ah, we try our best.”

“If you need anything, at all.” Silco eyed her seriously. “You let us know, alright? We’re always here to help.”

“Thank you, both of you.” With another smile, she made her way over to the passed-out Niya, scooping her up in her arms and propping her up straight as the other girl whined in partially-conscious complaint. “That’s the main reason I wanted to come out today, just to get a start on the announcements. But Niya really looks like she needs to get home now.”

“You sure you’re good to do that on your own?” Silco asked, eyebrow raised. But he was just met with a passive handwave.

“I’m pregnant, not weak. Besides, Niya’s, what? 90 pounds soaking wet? I’ll be fine. See you guys soon?”

“You better.” You smile. “Come by sometime! I’ll make something pregnancy-safe for dinner!”

“We may just take you up on that.” Skye smiled and waved to the two of you before walking off towards the exit.

“That’s awesome.” Your own smile is seemingly glued to your face, eyes following the two women as they disappear into the crowd. “She and Narco make such adorable parents.”

“Two little ones is quite the handful though. I would have waited a couple more years, personally.” Silco notes, taking Niya’s half-drunk wine and swirling it in the glass. You can’t help but laugh, eyeing him out of the corner of your eye. He’s wearing one of his nicer outfits, as he tends to do when you all go out. A light purple button-down, billowy with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, layered underneath a cheap-but-nice-looking grey blazer that you’d all bought him for his last birthday. His hair slicked back to reveal his angular features, you notice that his nose is just slightly pinker than normal, a sign that he had been drinking lately as well. But based on the fact that he wasn’t swaying or slurring his words, you guessed that it hadn’t been very much.

“I’m sorry, how many of you did Mikael raise again? You guys are, like, a few months apart between the three of you, and he seems to have done just fine.”

Silco, half smirking, nods and downs the mouthful of wine. “Fair point.” As he reaches into his pocket, he pulls out a box of what you recognize as his home-rolled cigarettes. “I know you said something about a drink, but how would you feel about a smoke instead?”

For a moment, you’re hesitant. There are more people here you haven’t said hello to yet, and you can still hear another bottle of ale calling your name. But one look back to the bar, and you see that mystery guy has stepped closer to Vander now. Suddenly, the anxiety from before returns tenfold, watching with unmistakable envy as you watch the man's hand reach out to touch Vander's bicep. 

“Count me in.”

Taglist (if you want to be added just lemme know!) @the-lake-is-calling @conretewings @officialjellydoughnut @ladyoakenshield @lovesleepybearwriter @pinkrose1422 @pinkheartfleece

[silverflame2724]

A cute prompt for you to make up for the angst: Merman Au. In a world where humans and mer are acquainted communities (trade and navigation partners), Mer-WWX sees human prince Lan Zhan and tried to get his attention! Splashing to draw eyes, making acrobatic jumps to impress, wearing his best jiaro silks, leaving cute trinkets on his windowsill in the hopes that he will like them, and singing enchanting songs for his Prince, all hoping that Lan Zhan will sing back and court him (mermaids court with music and gifts so write a completely smitten WWX and go nuts!)

Oh thank you!! I absolutely adore merman/jiaoren!WWX!! And this prompt is so nice! I really appreciate you giving me such a happy prompt since my grandaunt died two days ago from Covid.

_______________________________

It was a complete coincidence that brought them together. Wei Wuxian swam to the surface, intent on exchanging the jiaoren goods for coin and food, when he noticed the bright decorations around town.

As he handed the stuff over, red tail swishing every now and then, he asked the vendor, “What’s going on? Is there a festival I don’t know about?”

“Ah, Young Master Wei! You’re just in time! The second prince is coming here!”

“Second Prince? Why is he coming here?” 

“It’s just a yearly inspection.”

What? Wei Wuxian hadn’t heard about this in all the years he’d been here!

“Why haven’t I heard about this before?”

“Ah....the Second Prince doesn’t like crowded places or making a big deal about his arrival, so he takes some sort of alternate route to come here. Though, this year, that route was flooded.”

“I see.....”

“Do you want to see him?” The vendor asked upon noticing Wei Wuxian’s thoughtful look. “He’s rumored to be a beautiful person, second only to his brother, the Emperor. We can get a few of my friends to carry a tub over so you can see him!”

“Oh! I couldn’t bother you all that way.” Wei Wuxian politely refused. “I have other errands to do, unfortunately.”

“Oh....”

The real reason he was thoughtful was because of his and his people’s prior horrible experience with royals. They had fled Lanling, where the king had captured many of his people for the pearls they cried in place of tears. Gusu had been reportedly better, its Emperor laying down a law that bans the harm of mythical creatures such as the jiaoren. But Wei Wuxian didn’t want to risk any sort of attention to his people after they had just escaped. 

Wei Wuxian waved goodbye and dove back under the water. When he arrived at his home after going through a series of underwater caves, he found out his parents knew of these yearly visits from the prince and that it was fine to wander around since the prince doesn’t usually stay for long.

Wei Wuxian nodded along and decided to do make sure to distribute the food and coin around his community. 

Before he knew it, the sun had set. Wei Wuxian returned to the surface, considering he wanted to have some spicy human food for dinner. After eating on the edge of the dock, tail partially in to keep himself from drying, he heard music from afar.

Curious as to the owner of such a beautiful sound, he submerges and follows the sound towards a more secluded area of the dock. There, dressed in shades of blue, was a young boy, seemingly around Wei Wuxian’s age, playing the guqin with nary an expression on his face.

Something itched within Wei Wuxian and he had the urge to tease the boy into making a new sort of expression. As quiet as a mouse, he snuck close to the boy and burst out of the water, shouting, “Boo!”

As he expected, the white-clothed human became startled and nearly jumped in shock. Wei Wuxian cackled until he came face with a sword. He held his hands up in surrender even as his heart beat fast.

“Who are you?” The boy demanded.

Wei Wuxian lifted his head from the sword to come face to face with the most beautiful boy he had ever seen. The boy in front of him had the most entrancing pair of golden eyes. The boy narrowed his eyes and repeated his question, though the sword at his neck faltered a little.

Wei Wuxian took the opportunity to swim a little farther from the boy and pouted. “Gege, I just wanted to surprise you! You looked so serious sitting by yourself! You should look happier on such a beautiful night such as this!” The boy didn’t change his expression. “Also! Isn’t it rude to point your sword at a stranger?” 

“You do not know who I am?”

He’s probably some noble considering not many people own swords, but him specifically? “Nope! Should I know who you are?” He’s probably new or something. I haven’t seen him around before and nobles don’t usually come around these parts. ....Hmm, perhaps he’s here to see the prince?

The boy seemed to relax a little and put away his sword. “.....I apologize for pointing my sword at you. I was....unsure if you meant ill.”

“Why would I voluntarily bring harm to a stranger?”

“...” The human turned away and turned to his guqin, checking for damage.

“Hey, hey! Beautiful human with gold eyes! Don’t ignore meeee! Look at me, look at me!!”

The human merely sighed in exasperation.

Wei Wuxian’s pout became more pronounced and his tail splashed in irritation. The human’s eyes went wide with curiosity and shock and Wei Wuxian realized his mistake. “..Uhh....”

“A jiaoren?”

“Yeah! Do you have a problem with that?” Wei Wuxian said, guarded.

“No. I have never seen one before.”

“I see.” 

The atmosphere became awkward with the ensuing silence but Wei Wuxian could never stay quiet for long.

“So what brings you around these parts? I’ve never seen you before!”

“......I came with the prince’s entourage.” There was something odd in his tone.

“I see. You know, I’ve never seen the prince before. Is he as beautiful as the rumors suggest?”

“Vanity is against the rules.”

“Whose rules?”

“The palace’s.”

“Hmph. Well, this isn’t the palace. it’s fine to say something, hm?”

“....Gossiping is against the rules. Talking behind someone’s back is forbidden.”

Wei Wuxian threw his hands up. “Well, if I can’t talk about the prince, then tell me about you! That’s not against the rules, isn’t it?”

“........”

“A name! At least tell me your name! Mine’s Wei Wuxian, but Gege can call me Wei Ying since we’re already so close!”

“Shameless!” The boy hissed, ears red. 

“Oh come on!! I told you my name, it’s only fair that you tell me yours! Don’t be rude, Gege!”

“.....Zhan.”

“Hm?”

“Lan Zhan.” He repeated.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian murmured and Lan Zhan nodded. Hmm. It’s a birth name, not a courtesy name. Is he trying to hide his identity? He’s not doing a very good job though, considering ‘Lan’ is the name of the royal family. Perhaps he’s a relative of the prince’s? I wouldn’t expect a prince to be out here by himself without guards so he must be a guard or something. Hmm. It’s something to think about later. It doesn’t seem like he means harm even after knowing what I am. Regardless, it’s not like he could follow me back to my home even if he did mean ill. Humans can’t hold their breath for that long. “Well, Lan Zhan, now that we know each other’s names, you’re now my friend!”

“........We do not know each other.”

“That’s what we’re talking for, silly! We’re getting to know each other, right?”

“Hm.” Lan Zhan packed his guqin away. “I must go. It is late.”

“Late? We’ve hardly talked though! Don’t leave me here, Lan-gege!” Wei Wuxian whined.

“Not.....Not.....gege.”

“Hm?”

“I have an older brother.”

“Hm? Oh.....oh! Okay, I understand! Lan-er-gege!”

Lan Zhan looked away, gripping his sword. “I will come back tomorrow night.”

“Huh?” Then he connected the dots. “Oh! Okay! See you later, Er-gege!”

Lan Zhan nodded and left. It was only when he couldn’t see him anymore did Wei Wuxian realize he could have just asked where Lan Zhan lived. If it was close to the water, he could just swim to him. That might put him close to the prince and other people from the palace which wasn’t a very comforting thought. He still didn’t know whether to trust the Gusu royals, despite possibly conversing with one.

.......................

The next few nights passed by in a similar fashion, with Wei Wuxian trying to get Lan Zhan’s attention and Lan Zhan hardly giving the jiaoren an inch.

Wei Wuxian, however, saw this as a challenge and began to do many things to get Lan Zhan’s attention. The most effective one was splashing him, though it earned him a glare as well as Lan Zhan predicting it and being able to dodge more often than not.

He moved onto trying to impress Lan Zhan by performing difficult acrobatic tricks. Lan Zhan looked amazed at this and Wei Wuxian was extremely smug, quickly turning an embarrassed red when Lan Zhan praised him, with a, “Beautiful.”

Wei Wuxian wailed, hiding his face in his hands, “Lan-er-gege, you can’t just say that!”

“Why?”

“It’s too embarrassing!!”

“Wei Ying calls me beautiful all the time.” Lan Zhan deadpanned.

Wei Wuxian peeked at him from in between his fingers, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” He demanded. “You can’t just tease me like this! Where did the Lan Zhan who got so easily flustered go?” 

Lan Zhan said nothing, but Wei Wuxian could see the faint upturn of his lips that made his overall expression smug.

And Wei Wuxian didn’t know why, but it made his heart beat faster/

.......

It escalated. Because of course it did. Wei Wuxian wanted to hear Lan Zhan praise him again and see that faint smile again - no matter if it was smug or not.

He wore his best jiaoxiao silks - ones he personally weaved -, danced, and....and even sang to him. Lan Zhan even joined him sometimes, playing on the guqin.

He returned every night, sighing into his parents’ embrace about his Lan Zhan and his parents shot him increasingly knowing looks until they laid down the truth. 

“You’re courting him, aren’t you, A’ Ying?” His father asked.

“C-Court?”

“Yes, A’ Ying.” His mother patiently said. “You wore the most beautiful jiaoxiao silks you weaved, danced a well-known courting dance, and even sang for him. If you aren’t courting him, if you aren’t in love with him, then I call bullshit.”

Wei Wuxian clutched his burning cheeks. “Courting?” Am I really courting Lan Zhan? I mean.....I like it when he praises me and calls me beautiful and plays his guqin for me and even plays an accompaniment when I sing!

......Oh god. Oh heavens! I really am courting him!!! How could I not notice???!!!! Ahhhh!!!!

.......................

The nature of Wei Ying’s gifts and music changed, Lan Wangji noted absently. 

When Lan Wangji first met Wei Ying, he was unsure of what to think but was quickly captivated by his smile and intelligence. It made Lan Wangji reluctant to return to the palace. Or maybe even bring Wei Ying with him.

He shook that thought away quickly. He couldn’t just take Wei Ying away from his family!

Back to the point, Lan Wangji noticed the shy looks Wei Ying shot him from time to time and how his songs gained a sort of.....longing tone. The gifts too......they were pearl bracelets and hairpins that had to be made from Wei Ying’s tears. Lan Wangji may be shy but he was not oblivious to what it meant to receive a jiaoren’s personally made songs and pearls. 

Perhaps.....Wei Ying might share his feelings after all?

That thought made his heart beat faster. If he remembered correctly, jiaoren court through songs. And Lan Wangji had the perfect one in mind.

.....................

Lan Zhan had to leave today. He had to leave!!

Wei Wuxian wanted to cry, somehow. He hadn’t finished courting Lan Zhan! 

Fortunately, Lan Zhan seemed reluctant to leave too. “I can ask my brother to send me here soon.”

“Really? Really, Lan Zhan?”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian’s tail propelled him out of the water and forward so that he could wrap Lan Zhan into a hug. “I knew you liked me! Oh! Uh-- I mean--!”

Lan Zhan’s arms came around him. “Mn. Like Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian squealed happily. Lan Zhan liked him back!! He pulled back to give Lan Zhan a bright smile which, surprisingly, was returned!!

Wei Wuxian’s tail swished happily, “Keep smiling, Lan-er-gege! It’s really pretty!!”

Lan Zhan huffed out a laugh and Wei Wuxian grinned. 

.

.

“Wei Ying, there is something I must tell you.”

“Hm? What is it?”

Lan Zhan hesitated and Wei Wuxian sat up, sensing it was serious. 

“What is it?”

“Wei Ying, I have not been entirely honest with you. My name is Lan Zhan....... courtesy name: Wangji.”

Wei Wuxian took a moment to let that sink in. Where had he heard that courtesy name before?

“Hey, Mom.” Wei Wuxian asked as they crossed the border between Lanling and Gusu. “The Gusu royals. Are they good people?”

His mother nodded. “I was acquainted with the current king’s uncle until we had a.....” She winces. “A fight. They are good people, regardless of our past differences. The current king, Lan Xichen, and his little brother, Lan Wangji, have implemented a law that ensures the safety of creatures like us.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” 

“You’re the second prince?!” Wei Wuxian gasped, dramatically flopping into the water. The prince?! He was courting the actual prince of Gusu???!!!

“Mn.” Lan Zhan confirmed as soon as he surfaced, shoulders tense.

“Well, shit. I didn’t know, but it’s not like you’re going to punish me for my rather shameless behavior, right? I know humans have different customs for courting.”

“Mn.”

“Okay! Now that that’s out of the way, Lan Zhan - I can still call you Lan Zhan, right?” Lan Zhan nodded. “Then, Lan Zhan, now that I know you’re the prince, I know you must have a lot of business and I can’t push you to come here often. But do try to visit, okay? I’ll miss you a lot!”

“Mn. Will miss Wei Ying too.”

__________________________

Then, a few years down the line, the two of them get together because this is a happy universe and they know how to communicate!

[divinerivals]

“Let’s go pearl hunting in the Summer Court!” Elain was bursting with excitement and Lucien found himself unable to refuse such a request. ☺️🥺💜

Elucienweek

Day 7: Free Choice (also this prompt is adorable and at some point I'd love to write them actually pearl hunting. Can we imagine Lucien's face at Elain in bathing suit. He'd lose his mind)

Elain took to the stairs two at a time, clutching a book in her arms, wishing she could winnow. Winnow would get her to their rooms faster than her two legs. Not even fae speed seemed fast enough. Currently it was her only method of travel. Thought the thought of tugging on her bond to bring Lucien to her did cross her mind. It mattered not. She was almost there anyway. In fact, Elain had reached their floor. The only thing in her way now was the long hall and a door of course. Bundling her skirts in her hand and the book, A guide to the Summer Court in another, she rushed down the sunlight path with excitement in her heart.

Reaching the door, Elain shoved herself through slamming it shut. Lucien nearly fell out of his chair at her arrival. “Do you know how to swim?”

He looked at her in disbelief. He made a noise between a laugh and a huff. “Do I know how to swim? Yes?”

Her nose scrunched up tilting her head. “That doesn’t sound confident.”

“I’m over 350 yrs old Elain.” he deadpanned. “ I promise I can swim.” He placed a pen he was holding down on a desk. Folding his arms over, crossing his stretched out legs. “Why are you asking?”

"Because..." she replied in a singsong voice. A smiled so wide all her teeth showed. Sharp cheekbones rose in delight as she flipped the book in her hands towards him. “THIS!”

Lucien tucked a curled fist beneath his chin, squinting at the title on the book in hear hands. “A guide to the summer court.” their eyes met. “You want to go swimming at the summer court? There are springs and lakes throughout the Day Court love. We don’t have to travel far.”

Elain spun the book around, thumbing the pages until she found the right one. Elain crossed the distance settling in his welcomed lap. Instinctively, Lucien curled an arm around her waist, his chin settling on her shoulder as he read the words off the page the illustrations of oysters and muscles and pearls.

“Pearl Hunting!” she exclaimed. Turning to look at him with childlike joy. His heart nearly melted at how giddy she was about this. The second he felt her joy through the bond he knew whatever it was she discovered was an automatic yes. For Elain, for the woman who taught him he was more than deserving of her love and his real father’s love anything that made her this ridiculously happy would be hers. “Let’s go pearl hunting in the Summer Court!”

“Hmmm…” he plucked the book from her hands. Studying the words as if it were some text in another language. “You know...now that you mention the Summer Court, I do have business there.”

"Really?" A spark glowed brightly in her eyes turning to face Lucien. She smiled. Warm and bright like the sun itself. His heart swelled at her elated expression. Then she watched him with suspicion. “What business?”

He shrugged. “Special mate gift.”

Her eyes turned into slits. “Uh huh. What are you hiding?”

Lucien nodded towards the book left abandoned on the desk. “Where did you find this?” then back to Elain who still watched him with a slight wariness. He could draw this out if he wanted to. Cauldron he should’ve put the book back on the shelf when he was finished and not on the table where clearly anyone that was curious would find it.

“The Library.” He shot her a look that said obviously but where. Elain rolled her eyes. “On a table in the back. There was a page marked…” she trailed off lost in thought.

The page was the pearl hunting. Lucien had a special gift in the Summer Court. Sneaky bastard. She tried to give him a flat look but her excitement won out. Elain grasped his face, her mouth crashing into his with such force, Lucien gripped the chair to steady them so they didn’t fall backwards. Once they were stable. His arms wrapped around her, hands splayed on the swell of her back. She laughed, breaking the kiss. The sound radiating from her like she were the sun and her laughter the sunrays that warmed his skin.

“I saw the book. Read it before but seeing it I remembered about the pearl hunting. Worked my oh so charming magic and secured us a private pearl hunting experience. So when do I win the best mate award?”

Elain reached for the buttons on his tunic. “I say now.” and her mouth was on his again.

elucienweek taglist: @ladyvanserra @helion-ism @firestarsandseneschals @thecrownlands @rarephloxes @elucienweek @nestaisgod

[ghostiewriter]

AJSKDJLES you’re so nice!!! I was 100% using my birthday to manipulate you into giving us more headcanons lol but I wasn’t expecting you to actually get to it today! 🥺🥺🥰 take your time and no pressure but I definitely wouldn’t say no to hearing more about them making wild melodramatic accusations to make each other laugh in public because I can 100% see it. And I can totally see it starting on the surf trip because no one knows them so they’d just like try and embarrass the other? Amazing.

Sorry it’s a day late but I hope you had a great birthday bestie and enjoy the chaos of this wee blurb😂tbh I love this headcanon for them because it’s something they would totally do! But happy late birthday and I hope it was an enjoyable one!!❤️

Word Count: 1.6K

It started of a silly little game.

Keeping true to their word, the second they had graduated from high school and had those diplomas in their hands, JJ and Kiara wasted little time in planning the logistics of their surf trip around the world. So many places to go, waves to surf, sights to see—it was impossible to choose a place to start. However, thanks to Pope and his intense need to create a plan so his two best friends wouldn’t be thrown into the world as they “go with the flow”, he had organised a proper scheme.

JJ didn’t think it was necessary, and Kiara knew they wouldn’t stick to it. But they let Pope continue with it regardless.

Against their better judgement, his route and itinerary around Europe was insanely helpful for the couple as they ventured through the countries, excited to see places they could only dream about. Especially for JJ, it felt absolutely surreal that he was leaving the island, let alone travelling the world with the love of his life at his side. It was something he would never fully believe, but cherish in fear that he would wake up from this perfect dream and return to a shitty life in reality.

But as he turned to look at Kiara, her hair swept back by the breeze and her eyes watching the glittering city below in awe as they stood at the top of the Eiffel Tower, JJ knew that no matter how many times he pinched himself that this was his reality.

“If you’re about to make some cheesy joke about how the view is pretty but you’re prettier, I will throw you off this tower.”

JJ only grinned in response, shaking his head as he finally shifted his attention to the city view. They had just witnessed the sunset and it was one of the most breath-taking views either of them had seen, without a fucking doubt.

“Well now that you’ve stole my thunder and ruined it…” He trailed off with a sigh, but his smile only widened when he heard the soft giggle that escaped her lips.

“Whatever.” She muttered, her features softening as she leaned against the railing and took in the sounds of the streets of Paris.

“I can understand why so many people propose up here, it’s beautiful.” He admitted after a few moments.

Kiara only scoffed.

JJ turned to her, eyebrows raised. “You don’t agree?”

“Because there is nothing more romantic than having a bunch of other tourists watching one of the most intimate moments of your life whilst horns are beeping down below and the wind is blowing hair into your lip gloss.” She deadpanned.

Kiara was a romantic person when she wanted to be, but some gestures were even too much for her.

“Well when you put it like that, it’s no fun.” JJ muttered with a small chuckle, though he could see her point. “Does this mean I should keep the ring in my pocket and scrap the proposal?” He asked with a grin on his face.

Kiara rolled her eyes but she smiled. “Sorry to break your heart, babe, but if you got down on one knee right now, I would have no shame embarrassing you in front of all these people.” She said with a brief glance at the other tourists standing up here with them.

But JJ’s eyes gleamed at the sight of the challenge.

She didn’t have time to question him when he slipped one of the rings off, holding it in his palm before he cleared his throat and got down on one knee.

Her eyes widened as she looked down at him in confusion. “Jay, what are you doing—”

“Barbra Gertie Stonehend,” He started in a loud, boisterous voice to (successfully) catch the attention of the other tourists. “We have spent years together, helping each other through many hardships. I have been there for you since your bed wetting days when you were twelve, I have been there for you since you got your braces stuck in the railing at the zoo, and I have been there for you since your pet piggy was tragically knocked down by a bike. But now I ask that you do me the honour of being there with me at the end of the aisle by the alter?”

He finished his obscene speech, now holding his ring between his fingers and looking up at her with a faux hopeful expression. She pressed her lips together to hold in her snickers as she glanced around, seeing all eyes on them as they awaited her answer. And when her gaze returned to JJ, there was something quite smug shining in his eyes.

JJ had always been the best liar from them all, the way he would so easily be able to spout out nonsense at the drop of a hat. But she was just as competitive and determined as the blond, and willing to challenge him at his own game.

“Oh Bernie…” She sighed, hand placed on her chest as she looked down at him. “How could I ever marry a monster like you! Marge told me everything, I cannot believe you would expect me to marry you after you were the one that killed my pig!”

A few gasps could be heard from the crowd around them.

JJ urged himself not too laugh, though his eyebrows were raised in silent appreciation.

“Boo-Bear, it’s not what it seems! I didn’t mean to kill Vincent!” He urged, reaching out to hold her hands in his own. “I am more than a cold blooded pig murderer, please give me a chance!”

“I love you, my snookums, but I cannot!”

“Please, honey-bunch, don’t listen to Marge!” He cried out as she ripped her hands from his. “She is just jealous of what we have!”

“Then why are you having a child with her?!”

Kiara could’ve sworn she heard someone utter ‘holy shit’ under their breath but urged her face to remain neutral.

“It’s not mine!”

“Then who’s is it?” Kiara demanded, her hand clutching her imaginary pearls.

“My twin brother’s!”

“No!” Kiara gasped, feigning utter shock as she took a few steps back. “It cannot be Bobby’s…because he is the father of my child!”

Another series of gasps echoed amongst the landing.

“You…you were cheating on me with my twin brother?” JJ asked, finally standing up as he looked at her with a look of betrayal.

“I’m sorry, Bernie…” She whispered but JJ dramatically turned away.

“I can’t believe this,” He muttered before heading towards the exit. “I’m taking the dog and going home!”

“BERNIE, NO—”

“Goodbye, Barbra, enjoy your life with Bobby and his stupid exterminating company!”

Whispers murmured around the group and Kiara urged herself to keep a straight face as she waited a few moments before following him down. Once they reached the bottom, it took one glance at each other before they burst out laughing, tears streaming down their faces as they clung onto each other and walked back to their flat.

It was the start of an odd game they played for the rest of their trip. In the most random places they would play out insane scenarios, the aim to be as dramatic as they possibly could until one of them had to physically leave the scene before they burst out laughing. It was just a wee game to spice things up when they were out in public, plus it helped knowing they would never see any of these people again.

The word ‘Eiffel’ just had to be said and the game would begin.

And boy, was it entertaining.

There was the time they were in Austria visiting a vineyard, when suddenly Roberto was just sick and tired of holding back his secret affair he had been hiding behind his wife’s back. Little did he know his wife, Carla, had been sleeping with his secretary too.

Or the time they pretended to be spies on a mission whilst walking through a museum in Australia, pretending to mutter things to one another and even went to the extent of buying walkie talkies so they could suspiciously communicate from opposite sides of the room. That one kind of backfired because they did end up being thrown out by security.

Or the time they were in a small village in Turkey when it was suddenly revealed that Topanga would be leaving her fiancé, Johnny, for a prince that promised her wealth in power. However much to her shock, the prince she had been talking to was actually Johnny catfishing her.

Or there was the time they decided to re-enact the whole plot of Mamma Mia in Greece to see how long it would take people to notice how familiar the whole situation felt. It turned out it took people a tragically long time.

It was a stupid game that they adored and it followed them through the extent of the surf trip and even sometimes when they would returned home. Not to the same extent as they did in the past with fake identifies, but sometimes just odd scenarios to really fuck with their friends’ heads and keep them on their toes.

There was just something so satisfying about turning to each other, matching grins on their faces as they sat at the kegger and listened to some random touron talk about how nothing interesting ever happened on this island whenever she would visit her grandmother.

Ideas racing in their minds and all the possibilities of how they can make this night one to remember were jumping at the possibility to put on a show. With his eyebrows raised, JJ turned to his girl.

“Eiffel?”

“Eiffel.”

“HOW COULD YOU?! THAT GOLDFISH PIZZA MEANT EVERYTHING TO ME AND YOU JUST ATE IT AFTER EVERYTHING WE’VE BEEN THROUGH?”

After all, it started as a silly little but it always ensured chaos.

[admiringlove]

doubt

+pairing: tsukishima kei x reader

+synopsis:  tsukki, the boy you’re desperately in love with. the boy who holds your hand softly as the two of you walk home together from school. the only question is, does the boy love you back just as much as you love him?

+genre: angst; fluff.

+word count: 1.6k

+warnings: none.

+author’s notes: this is an older fic, please note that my writing style has gotten better and i am producing newer fics that are better than this one. not that this fic is necessarily bad(it’s good i hope) but just my style has improved much more.

— request.

HIYA! I saw the request were open so I just wanted a full angsty Tsukki imagine. Do anything you want, I want that ANGST :DD

You and Tsukki had been dating for the past few months. Yamaguchi, being the neutral friend of the group, would always come to the rescue if the two of you had a fight or need help in talking to one another.

However, tonight was different. The dusk comes as a promise of starlight, of those eminent pearls of the twilight that sit as if cushioned upon pure black velvet. The heat of the day has ebbed to a soothing warmth. The sunshine has lost its luster, and the colors of the atmosphere are softened.

You, a teenager who had just gotten a 76-percent in Physics, was itching to find some comfort. You had pulled countless all-nighters for these exams. You had stayed up so many nights studying the reflecting rays and the incident rays and the formulas that you were just disappointed in yourself. You were in a bad mood already; expecting some calming words from Tadashi or Kei, you walk towards the volleyball gymnasium to find Tsukki, who looked so concentrated on the practice match being played.

The boys were practicing in so much perspiration and purpose, that you felt like simply watching them excel from afar. You sighed as Sugawara and Daichi greeted you before ending practice ten minutes earlier than usual, as everyone seemed drained. You waited patiently as the boys went to get changed, Hinata giving you a high-five and complimenting you before leaving.

"I'll walk you home after changing, will you wait for me?" Kei says as he picks up his bag and slings it over his shoulder. You nod, "Sure thing, Kei."

The blond walks over to the club room with everyone else, and you notice that Kei had left a shirt in the gym.

You headed to pick up Tsukishima's shirt that he had left behind. And as you headed up the stairs of the club room, you could overhear Tsukishima and Yamaguchi talking.

Talking about... you?

"Tsukki, shush. They're your [S/O]," Yamaguchi mumbles with paranoia evident in his tone. Tsukishima scoffs halfheartedly, looking away. He rolls his amber eyes in ignorance and continues, "They lied saying they studied for the Physics exam. Why would they want to lie about studying? It's them that got the lowest grade of the class, not me."

You hide next to the half-open door—heart breaking into pieces as you hear Tsukki say those words—and Yamaguchi gasps slightly when he sees you. You gesture him to keep quiet as you wanted to hear what Kei had to say about you. Truth is, you felt as if he was slowly falling out of love with you. He never gave you any song recommendations anymore, he never walked home with you, he never even bothered to talk to you, which was what pained you even more.

“Tsukishima, why would you say that about your own partner?” Suga asked to lighten the mood a little, but Tsukishima only replied, “I don’t like it when people lie to me.”

And then, the boy continued. 

"It's annoying to even be with them, at this point. They're clingy, and—"

You clutch the shirt in your palm tightly, walking away. You didn't want to hear anymore. Rapidly blinking to stop the tears brimming at the corner of your eyes, you sped up your pace. Your shoulders dropped in resignation as you tightened your chapped lips in a straight line. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, as you grabbed your backpack and began the walk towards your home. What could you do, anyway? Beg him to stay with you a little longer? Obviously not, that would make you look desperate.

But what could you do, anyway? You didn't want to admit it, but you were desperate. You were desperately in love with the sarcastic remarks, the signature smirk, the teasing eyes, the nonchalant "good morning, [Y/N]-chan", the recommendations of songs that would blow your mind, the sweet midnight trips to your house just because he was bored, the small lingering kisses that would make you want more, and what else? There was so much about Tsukishima Kei that you were in love with. You couldn't put it into words even if you tried. You imagined a future with him even though the two of you were high-school freshmen.

You were alone, walking the empty streets as tears welled up from deep inside your heart and coursed down your cheeks. Like a warm waterfall in the middle of autumn. You were being killed by your own unruly thoughts that were getting the best of you. How was he going to break up with you? Was this it? Was he simply never going to talk to you again?

You finally got home, shrugging your mother off saying that you weren't in the mood for dinner as you wiped your tears and ran up the stairs.

You avoided Tsukishima for the whole week. After all, what good does a clingy [S/O] do other than annoying their partner?

"[Y/N]!" you hear Tadashi's voice echo through the corridor just as you're about to leave. You stayed behind for a couple of extra minutes because you liked the soothing silence your school provided. The bell ringing, the leaves of the trees rustling, the smell of books and chalk, the nostalgic feeling overwhelming you of memories buried deep.

The school was a safe place without anyone around.

"Ah, Tadashi!" you grinned, you grabbed your belongings and rushed over to the boy, greeting him once again. He rubs the back of his neck nervously as he asks, "You haven't talked to Tsukki all week, have you?"

"Oh, I haven't? I didn't notice," you chuckle nervously, obviously knowing that Yamaguchi was concerned about you since the day he had seen you overhear his conversation.

What you didn't know, was that Tsukishima was standing merely five feet away, hidden inside a classroom. He was quizzically standing there, not moving an inch so he could hear what you had to say. Did you want to break up with him? Was that why you hadn't initiated a single conversation with him? Was that why you would leave your home earlier than usual so you could walk without him? Was that why you wouldn't even bother to look at his message(even though he had only tried to contact you twice—one text, and one call)?

"[Y/N], I know you heard when Tsukki complained about your grade in the Physics exam," Tadashi grimaced, gritting his teeth as he tried to look away from you. You widened your eyes as you tried to find a suitable explanation that would fix the problem in front of you.

Tsukishima, on the other hand, was shocked. He didn’t know you were there that day. His hands were in his hair as he slowly sunk to his knees. His breathing becoming more rigid, more uneven as his mind went frantic. You had heard him call you clingy. You had heard him openly criticize you in front of the whole team. You had heard him say such mean things about you.

He couldn't fathom what you were feeling.

"It's not like I care about Physics anyway," you giggle, trying to lighten the mood, "Even if I got a low score, I still passed."

"Can you not joke around?" Yamaguchi asked in a deadpan tone that made you get goosebumps. You sighed, looking at him right in the eye, and claimed, "The other option is I cry and face my overwhelming sadness that my own boyfriend called me clingy and dumb even though I try so hard to be a person he deserves, so no."

To say that Tadashi was taken aback, was an understatement. You smiled as you let out a dry chuckle, and walked away.

That night, Tsukishima Kei was the one crying himself to sleep.

"Good morning, [Y/N]-chan," you heard an all-too-familiar voice behind you as you walked out to buy groceries. You stopped in your tracks, [E/C] eyes widening as you let out an unintentional hum.

"Can we talk?" he asked. You turned around hesitantly to see that his features no longer displayed the desultory expression he used to display. His forbearance was dying by the passing minute—he was worried as he stepped toward you, but stopped as he witnessed you take a step back.

His amber eyes searched for some comfort in yours, but he couldn't find himself to look at your face—as if your hurt expression would break him down even more. He never meant to hurt you with his snarky laid-back words. He didn't even mean most of them.

"I'm sorry if I have been a clingy or annoying [S/O], Tsukishima," you mumble, kicking a pebble lightly. It doesn't even pain you to say it anymore—your voice is calm and emollient as if you didn't mind saying these words. He grimaced at the fact that you didn’t call him “Kei” as his guilt uproared even more. 

Your tone caused him to wince as he looked up at your face. There was no sign of apathy, like your tone. Instead, your eyes were shut tightly, as if you were trying to stop yourself from having a breakdown right there. He stepped closer to you, hoping that you wouldn't walk away this time, as he placed a palm on your head—gently fiddling with the strands of your [H/C] hair. His touch is like embrocation; the sudden relief of all pain cast inside has been let out along with a single tear taking its course on your cheek.

Your furtive façade breaking down slowly as he held you in his long, yet firm arms. You were like a gossamer—so delicate, that Kei was scared he'd break you.

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things about you. I shouldn’t have ignored you," he mumbled into your hair as he embraced you tightly. You shook your head in disagreement as you muffled out a reply, "I was the one that didn't do well. It's my fault."

"You did your best," he mused. You hummed indulgently, as he held your hand in his, "I'm walking you to wherever you're headed."

"You don't even know where I'm going," you chuckled out, as the boy smiled down at you, "So? I meant it when I said I’d follow you anywhere when we began dating.”

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[comic-brew]

Pieces

@whumptober2020 days n.4 Running out of time: Buried Alive and n.5 Falling (alt prompt)

Summary: The wet soil doesn’t end, it engulfs him in its cold embrace and doesn’t let him go, no matter how wildly he struggles against the earthly tendrils wrapped securely around his limbs and torso.

Notes: shitty au where basically TV Titans Jason has flashbacks of his comic-life, even though he technically haven’t lived any of them yet. How much this story progresses depends on if I’ll write a second ch. Beware of 2 different writing styles cause I started this way too long ago.

Reading time: 35 mins (4.4k)

Warnings: whump, panic attacks, being buried alive, self deprecating thoughts, angst, oxygen deprivation, PTSD (?), vertigo, falling, perhaps sth else I missed??

or read here on ao3!

ps. reblogs and feedback bring the author great joy uwu

***

“Hey, Jason” Gar greets after knocking and opening the door to Jason’s room just enough to peer his head through.

“How’re you doing?”

The boy waits but Jason doesn’t reply. He’s simply staring out his window, arms falling limply at his side, barely even registering the new presence in the room. Garfield bites his lip and invites himself inside and by Jason’s side. He glances at the boy’s rapidly moving, but hollow eyes, then at the view of the sky they’re aiming at.

“Are you still with us, buddy?” he asks.

He hesitantly runs a hand up and down in front of Jason’s distant gaze and that seems to do the trick.

Jason blinks, then shakes his head to rid himself of whatever thought he was so unnervingly engrosed into. Turning to face the green haired boy, he assumes the most carefree expression he can muster, forcing a halflit smile in a futile attempt to compose himself.

“Yeah, was just.. thinking” he assures, his eyes holding no emotion.

“ ‘Course… You sure you’re okay?” Gar presses, making little effort to conceal the incredulous frown his eyebrows are drawn into.

Jason shifts in his place while his hands clench and unclench, in an attempt to calm his discomfort and aggravation at Gar’s question, because he knows his teammate’s just asking out of honest concern. It’s not his fault Jason hasn’t slept in days and isn’t used to people checking up on him.

“I’m fine, dude, seriously.” Jason insists and Garfield knows better than to further inquire him “Now, did you want something?”

Fuck. Jason almost winces at how aggressive his words have come out. Gar blinks, opening his mouth to say something. Before his thoughts can materialize on the tip on his tongue, he seems to rethink what he wanted to say. That delay of course doesn’t go unnoticed by Jason.

God..Why does he always mess everything up?

As Gar’s about to speak again, the new Robin raises a hand to the green haired boy’s chest, stopping any word before it can reach his ears. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just tired and I’m taking it out on you.” he huffs a bitter laugh “You don’t deserve me being an ass to you too.”

The boy’s brown eyes light up with understanding and relief and his tense shoulders physically relax at the confession. “Hey, it’s cool man. I get it.” he acknowledges, smiling politely and squeezing Jason’s shoulder.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t recoil from the touch, instead reciprocating Gar’s reassuring smile with an exhausted, but genuine and lighthearted smirk.

They both remain in that position for several split seconds, until Garfield finally retracts his hand to clasp his palms together as it dawns on him that he still hasn’t told his teammate the news he came to deliver.

“Actually I did come to tell you something” he announces, grinning widely and slightly fidgeting with his fingers “Rachel and I were thinking of watching a movie, you’re welcome to join us. You know, if you feel up to it.”

Jason takes a spare second to ponder and process Gar’s proposition. He steals a glance at the translucent glass of the window, separating his world from the towering skyscrapers and showering his neatly made bed in the soft gleam of the afternoon.

It would surely be better than staying there alone, falling into the inky depths of his eternal abyss.

Turning to face the boy whose eyes scour him expectantly for any indication of his intentions, he relents with a rather forced shrug.

“Uh, sure, I guess.” Jason says.

Gar’s face lights up and pulls into a joyous grin. “Cool… cool.”

He awkwardly shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants and starts heading towards the door, stopping midway to listen to Jason calling out after him.

“I’ll be there in a sec.”

The green haired boy simply nods and subtly waves his hand goodbye, before he disappears into the hallway.

***

When Jason steps foot into one of the spacious living areas Titans Tower houses, there are three heads turning at the soft sound of his approaching footsteps where he expected to be greeted by two. The platinum curls flowing gracefully with the motion can only belong to one person. Well, at least one person they know.

“Rose” he sighs. “Didn’t expect you to come”

“Didn’t expect to come either” she counters, the corners of her lips twitching upwards in amusement, “But I guess this could be fun after all”

She is comfortably perched on a lovely armchair covered by smooth, pearl fabric, facing the flank of a matching couch. One knee bent and placed securely under her body, the side of her head is doused in the last dull afternoon light seeping into the room through the daffodil curtains keeping the golden sunset rays at bay. Rachel is regarding Jason with a mellow smile, sitting cross legged on the far end of the couch neighbouring Rose’s armchair and Garfield has already started fumbling with a rather ancient DVD player.

It’s a wonder how this thing still exists in a building where interactive holograms are a norm. But then again it wouldn’t be the oddest thing about this place.

“Well,” Gar begins, slightly groaning when the DVD port spitefully refuses to close, “We’re both glad you did join us. Now, take a seat ladies and gentlemen!” he announces with fervor when he finally manages to slam the port close, and gestures towards the unoccupied cushions next to the purple haired girl.

Jason takes the invitation gladly and flops down on the other end of the couch, closer to the hall he was in just a few seconds ago.

“What are we watching?” Jason asks.

Rachel turns her focus to him then, leaning her back on the couch and clutching a decorative pillow to her abdomen. “Gar found this, and I quote, 'apocalyptic masterpiece of censorship’ and insisted we had to watch it.” she grins, rolling her eyes at reciting her friend’s words.

Jason and Rose both snort at that as Garfield reaches the couch in a few quick strides. “Seriously guys, I have only ever heard about this movie from some pretty questionable sources.” he says giddily before sobering up again, clearly fussing over his discovery.

“We’re literally staring an urban legend in the face, guys!”

“Yeah, not like you hang out with the Titans or whatever” Jason quips. Seriously, how can a movie be more exciting than fighting crime alongside heroes? Than being a hero?

“Good point, bro. Good point”

Jason shoulders stiffen at the nickname, but only for a briefly awkward moment which Gar is more than eager to fill with more (unnecessary) information.

“Well, according to those guys the movie was banned shortly after its release and all copies were revoked and ultimately destroyed.”

“Clearly not all copies” Rachel muses before asking why the movie was banned in the first place. Gar mumbles something about it addressing some extremely controversial topics and offending some powerful douchbag before making his way to the middle cushion.

Rachel scoots over without even untangling her legs to make more room for him to sit.

Rose simply raises an eyebrow.

“Where the hell did you even hear about this stuff in the first place?”

Gar suddenly goes stills in his place on the couch. He runs a hand through his messy strands of hair before reluctantly providing an answer. “Uh… Tumblr?” he says while grinning awkwardly.

Rachel nods her head back slack-jawed, brows shooting up in a terrible attempt at showing understanding. Gar frowns as he then glances at Jason who’s staring at him with wide disbelieving eyes, the sound of Rose dramatically smacking her own face enhancing the atmosphere.

“It’s not that surprising guys, come on!” Gar protests, an exasperated sigh emanating from his lips.

At that, the three of them exchange deadpan looks before bursting out laughing. The laughter soon subsides into small giggles and high pitched breaths as the green haired boy smiles with content and leans above the mahogany coffee table to grab the tv remote.

“Well, friends, brace yourselves, for the most epic zombie movie to barely exist” he says, smirking as he plops back down on the leathern cushions.

On the screen, their reflections have given their place to the lean figure of a boy of asian descent in his 16s walking alongside a girl with dark complexion and luscious, auburn hair. A gentle, velvety voice surrounds them from the speakers and integrates them in the world the film is set in.

Time flows pleasantly as the story progresses with no interruption aside from a few enthusiastic inputs from a beaming Garfield.

The rest of the Titans are all gathered together in some other part of the Tower, once again excluding them from whatever plans they might be conjuring.

Because that went so well last time, Jason unwittingly ponders, quick to dismiss the thoughts lest those dreadfully fresh memories resurface.

But perhaps it’s already too late to whisk them away.

Jason gets up out of the blue, eliciting an inquisitive glare from the rest of the kids.

“I’ll just.. go grab some popcorn” he states vacantly, pointing at the hallway with his thumb without breaking eye contact. Truth is he needs a minute to recover from the intrusion of sensations he’d rather forget.

Plus, popcorn sounds nice.

“We can pause the film if you want” Rachel’s soft voice prompts, wording what has likely been dancing around the others’ minds as well.

“Nah, it’s cool. It won’t take long. I’m not going all the way to the Antarctica and back or whatever” he replies, fighting the nagging urge to roll his eyes and let the poison drip onto his voice. The kids nod and in a moment’s notice he’s gone.

Right foot.

Left foot.

Right foot.

Keeping up his pace feels abysmally hard. His head is reeling and his senses are swimming all around the place, reality feels like a fuzzy blanket draped over a newborn’s skin. Jason takes a few more carefully calculated steps before he stumbles on thin air. Careening into the wall he leans against the slick concrete on his flank until the world stops shifting enough for him to continue.

Somehow Jason makes it to the kitchen. He fumbles with the drawers, opening and closing them jerkily.

In just a few seconds the falling has progressed to the point where he can barely stand. He doesn’t think it’s ever been this bad the previous times.

Everything is spinning around. And when it all shifts upside down he’s falling from the marble to the ceiling, and when his skin and the asbestos are inches from colliding, the world tilts again like an hourglass that’s ran out of sand.

Just like that his descend is reset. Over and over.

He finds the popcorn bag in the last one and grabs it hastily. Only after the third attempt, the previous two ending shamefully with his clasp clutching piteously at empty air.

Dropping it of on the countertop it’s more muscle memory than will that redirects him to the sink. His fingers grip the knob, turning the water lukewarm, but as he lets it puddle on his palms he can’t feel it any clearer than a breath of a ghost on the back of his neck.

Jason splashes the water on his face but it ends up mostly on his clothes and on the ground. Gravity works funny when you have no sense of it.

His hands latch onto the edge of the sink and cling for dear life. The ledge, hold on to the ledge. His eyes open wide, they soak up the terror of the height. The terror of death.

The eerie reassurance of death.

The smog dissipates faster this time. But with it the distressing thought that it’s getting worse, that he’s getting worse, finds the chance settle in his gut.

Jason can’t do this anymore.

But he’s already been gone for a conspicuously large amount of time, and the thought of having to explain his reoccurring day-mares can’t even be entertained by his mind. So that makes a problem for another day.

The popcorn is ready in only a few minutes. Jason holds on to the sink for a couple more moments, taking deep breaths in and out, until his heart has stopped beating frenzied.

If they ask, he can always say he had trouble with the 'corn.

He can always say.

“Okay” he breathes out, closing his eyes as he informs nobody in particular.

“Okay I’m ready”

With that Jason grabs the bowl filled to the brim with the snack and disappears out the door. The journey from the kitchen to the smaller living area is nothing compared to the odyssey he went through following his departure from the lounge.

Once he sets foot back inside all heads turn towards him.

“What did I miss?” he asks, ever so cheerfully as he strides closer to the small den of couches.

One of them starts speaking, no doubt filling him in on the events that happened while he wasn’t watching. Whoever it is, Jason can’t concentrate on their voice enough to tell it apart.

On the screen, the boy is desperately gasping for air as he’s emerging from a moonlit grave.

The world spins out of focus, and before any of them know it the bowl has slipped through Jason’s limb fingers.

It has slipped, and it is falling.

***

The splintered wood pricks and stabs the sensitive skin beneath his shattered fingernails and the blood is threatening to leave his hands and drip onto his glacial cold face. His fingers hurt, they weren’t made as a shovel, they weren’t made to be penetrating wood, but they are doing exactly that, and he can’t acknowledge the piercing, burning throbs that travel through his veins to set the rest of his body aflame, because his lungs are burning, they’re flaring up more and more with every broken attempt at filling them up with air-

He has to dig, he has to keep going-

The last layer of polished wood finally relents, small pieces of it falling onto his raggedly, but once expensive, dandy suit. Blood is mixed with sweat on his palms, accelerating the speed with which it runs along his hands, tickling him while he scrambles for a breath of fresh air that never comes.

“N..o…” he croaks out and speaking is hard, his throat feels as the ash coated land left behind the passage of lava, and now he needs to cough, and he needs to breathe but there’s no air coming in, and frankly, he can’t decide whether it’s from the panic that has overcome him or because there simply isn’t enough oxygen in the cramped space he’s trapped in.

It’s not some prank

As if on cue the ground above him slightly shakes as the mud repositions and soil seeps through the open slit of the-

Of the coffin.

I’m buried alive…. I… I…, he realizes, ever so frantically.

And so his thoughts begin to plague him, the next one banging and clawing at the door of his mind before the previous has had the time to be stated, he’s hyperventilating and fairly so, he’s buried underneath 6 feet of soil-

Stop it Jason, get ahold of yourself. You made it this far because you never gave up, you won’t give up now either, a part of himself with a semblance of sanity left scolds him and orders his bloody hands to move, they grip the edge of the broken pine casket and pull with all their might.

The wooden seal cracks and Jason makes a supernatural effort to set it aside as it holds the weight of 6 feet of soil, his atrophied muscles protest by threatening to give out but it’s sheer determination that gets him to move on, he has to make it, he can’t die in there, he can’t leave, can’t leave his family.

Mud now openly drowns him from the huge whole in the lid of the casket, devouring every corner, sticking to every inch of skin and fabric.

He’s still gasping for air, his lungs and throat feel ready to burst and he’s dizzy, everything is spinning, but on the other hand 'everything’ is nothing more but a muddy grave and he’s still inside.

Almost frantically his injured fingers reach for the source of the soil. With jerky movements and all the strength he can muster he forces his hands through the earth. The stiff mud swallows him whole, lets the worms and maggots get tangled in his long strands of hair. Jason keeps his eyes and mouth stubbornly shut as he desperately struggles to propel his flimsy frame through the endless layers of ground.

He can faintly feel the darkness creeping in the corner of his mind, promising relief, promising safety. Those whispers sound tempting to his weak, grazed arms, to his blazing lungs-

The whispers don’t know that it’s not written in his DNA to yield.

His arms hastily swim through the wet mass that’s holding him beneath the surface, he can feel the dirt in his hair, in his ears, in his shirt, his pants, his everything. Maggots and caterpillars are crawling on his convulsed features. His heart is throbbing unnaturally loud, he can hear the thumping in his ears as his marred hands push and dig with painstaking effort.

Better hurry little robin! It ain’t fun if you die now, amiright boy blunder? HahaHA!

He’s digging, he’s trying, dyeing the earth crimson with his blood, please-

The wet soil doesn’t end, it engulfs him in its cold embrace and doesn’t let him go, no matter how wildly he struggles against the earthly tendrils wrapped securely around his limbs and torso.

He’s desperately gasping for a breath, just one breath to keep going, he’s coughing up phlegm and bile while his chest writhes and burns. He can’t help his mouth gaping in a last-gasp search for oxygen but the only thing entering his mouth and traveling towards his pricking trachea is dirt and rocks and… and…

…a feather?

A feather. He can feel it with his tongue, he can taste its sourness and almost hear a soft crunch under his teeth.

A feather. Robin.

He’s Robin, and Robin doesn’t die alone in an empty grave.

Robin fights. Robin protects. Robin wins.

With renewed resoluteness he forges ahead, his hand reaches where he supposes skyward is one more time.

This time, it’s met with the comfort of soft raindrops and the gentle wind blowing against his numb fingertips.

***

“-on? Jason!” Rachel calls at the sound of the metal bowl clattering to the ground, slipping right through the boy’s fingers and letting the freshly baked popcorn scatter all over the marble floor.

The girl exchanges a worried glance with Gar, before Rose gets up and marches furiously towards an exasperatingly unresponsive Robin, the popcorn crunching beneath her feet. She comes to a halt a few inches away from Jason’s hollow eyes and slaps him hard across the cheek.

The other two begin to protest loudly but Rose barely pays them any mind. She watches with pursed lips as Jason’s cloudy eyes regain focus and his hand shoots up to the skin gradually assuming the oh-so-wonderful shade of radish.

“Ow.. what the fuck?” Jason frowns at her while cautiously rubbing his cheek with his right hand. There’s no blood on his fingers, no mud on his skin. He can breathe.

Rose ignores his baffled query and simply turns to the two teens watching the whole scene play out from the safety of the cushions. She beams triumphantly as she announces smugly, “See? It worked.”

Jason, visibly annoyed by his incompetence to understand what the hell is happening traps her wrist in a vice like grip and tugs, forcing her to face him. She squints viciously at the gesture although she effortlessly pulls her hand free.

“Why the fuck did you slap me?”

The girl opens her mouth to respond, putting together a not so composed reply in her head -to put it mildly-, so it’s probably for the best when Rachel interrupts her train of thought.

“What happened, Jason? You completely zoned out”.

“Yeah, dude. What the hell was that all about?” Gar chimes in, nodding at the pile of popcorn by Robin’s feet and at the discarded bowl that has slid all the way to the edge of the couch he and Rachel are perched on.

“Wha..” Jason regards the strewn snacks with a quizzical look, as if he’s waiting for them to answer why they’re spread out all over the floor. Oddly enough, they don’t.

He fixes his still hazy gaze on his calloused hands next, his confusion manifesting in the form of furrowed brow.

He- he was-

no. He was never there. Always here.

His inviolate fingers are proof enough of that. But then.. is he losing his mind? Just like old Bertha, the old lady running around the theater, screaming that she had been kidnapped and experimented on by flying giraffes…. Not that it’s impossible with everything he’s witnessed the past year.

No, that can’t be it. He’s still shaken up from the fall right? It’s logical that he’s hallucinating about graves, he was seconds from ending up in one just a few days ago. It will go away right?

It will, it has to.

They can’t know, the street kid inside of him insists, they’ll throw you away like a broken toy. Broken..

“Jason, talk to us. What’s wrong?” Rachel is still staring at him, they all are. Her voice is laced with pity, they’re sorry for him. They’re pitying him, the bird that broke its wing and they know that now can’t survive on its own.

“What’s wrong with me?!” His head snaps to where her voice is coming from and the girl flinches at the bite behind his words.

“I didn’t mean- I meant you should perhaps tell Dick about it, he might be able to help” she stutters, her face bearing a deer in the headlights expression. Her gaze briefly meets with Garfield’s, perhaps to seek some backup. Somehow that angers Jason even more.

“Tell Dick? Really?” he snorts, “How about we tell Dick about that time you almost fucking choked me, maybe he could help!” he gasps mockingly. He is shouting now and the girl seems taken aback by the progression of his anger, gawking at him with a hint of sorrow tainting the indigo of her irises.

Gar stands up from his seat and approaches him, getting in the way of him and a Rachel fumbling for the right response to Jason’s accusation. The green haired boy extends his hand almost cautiously, it’s a simple gesture meaning nothing else than stop. It’s common sense, he knows he is going too far again but Jason’s common sense has jumped out the window. To him, they’re treating him like a wounded animal.

Perhaps he’s just projecting how cornered he feels.

“Dude, that’s enough”

“I’m sorry to break this to you, ” he points a finger accusingly at Rachel, “but Dick can’t fix everything like some kind of god you’ve made him out to be”

“Buddy-”

“He can’t fix you and your fucking razor blade tornado or whatever…” he keeps holding Rachel’s bleak glare gesturing wildly with his fingers and ignoring Garfield’s feeble attempts at making him stop.

“…and he can’t fix this” Jason concludes by pointing miserably at his head, then the rest of his body, until his hand drops limp at his side in resignation. His newfound rage has dissipated into downright bitterness.

At the far back the movie is still playing, forgotten. In the faint comforting light of the screen the girl with the auburn hair is kneeling in front of a stone cold body, burrowing her face in chestnut locks that would never grow any longer, as her shoulders heave sharply with every wreaked sob.

Grieving. Jason can still feel the three pairs of eyes -one consisting of one blue and an eyepatch- burning holes into the glimmers of tears stubbornly refusing to be spilt from his, even as he averts his stare.

There’s a deep pause after the abrupt revelation and the four kids are encompassed in a veil of tense silence no one seems willing to break.

Rose -who seemed rather amused when the yelling had started- is now solemnly inspecting the intricate patterns on the sheer curtains tucked to the side of the plate-glass window. Garfield is standing with his arms crossed protectively around his torso. Rachel has ceased to stare wide eyed like a freshly caught fish, however she’s keeping her arms close to her body and shifting awkwardly in her place. Her expression remains grim and her eyes dim, bearing an eerily sorrowful glint.

She puts her head down and eventually flies out of the room without another word. Consumed either by irritation or even guilt, if Jason has to guess. Gar spares no more than a defeated glance at her departure, otherwise maintaining his position by the abruptly deserted couch. He simply reaches for the tv remote, cutting off image and sound amidst a heated argument between the two leads. Damn this movie.

Deathstroke’s daughter looks between the two boys expectantly for half a second. None of them pays her any mind, too busy staring at the suddenly immensely intriguing floor.

“Nevermind, I’m out of here” she mutters through gritted teeth before getting down from atop the loveseat she had claimed and heading towards her own room.

Jason stares blankly at the scattered popcorn, but it provides no answer to the million questions dancing around in his mind.

Frankly, he didn’t expect it to.

Gosh. He’s so messed up.

Gar offers to help him clean up. He refuses. Perhaps Jason pushes him away just like everyone else. He’s got his own mess to clean up, first literally.

The metaphorical one might have just stained too deeply to remedy.

The night finds him placing the broom back in it’s place in the supply closet and sitting alone in pitch darkness.

Thinking of a grave that doesn’t belong to him, it never did, but it has his name on it. Thinking of the memories he shouldn’t have, piecing together how his heart only knows more fragments have been prodding at him, more broken pieces he doesn’t know where they fit.

The night finds him sitting alone in pitch darkness. Shivering, shaking with quiet tears.

Knowing he’d be undisturbed, alone, in the grave he’s built for himself.

[maleficarfic]

The Benefits of Banging Some Bricks

Pairing: Female Inquisitor/Skyhold

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Rating: Explicit

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot

Summary: Strange things happen to the Inquisitor, but nothing stranger than Skyhold wooing her. Solas tries to help, Varric just makes it worse.

On AO3: Link

The Inquisitor stared at her throne. Her boots were there, freshly polished, looking beautiful and pristine like she hadn’t worn them tromping through the Fallow Mire just the other day. She blinked. Tipped her head to one side.

“Something wrong, Inquisitor?” Cullen asked.

She pointed at her boots. “I lost those last night.”

He lifted one brow. “How did you lose them if they’re right here?”

“They weren’t in my room. I took them off and set them aside because I needed to clean them. Vivienne yelled at me about spreading mud everywhere and not taking care of my gear. So I was going to clean them. But when I got up this morning, they were gone. I had Harritt and Dagna make me a new pair.” She pointed at the boots she was wearing. “But now my old boots are here. On my throne. Mud free.” She tipped her head to the other side, baffled and a little disturbed.

Cullen chuckled. “Perhaps Cole thought to help you.”

So she went to Cole, boots in hand. “Did you do this?” she asked, thrusting the boots at him.

Cole stared at her from under his enormous hat. Vivienne was right, they really needed to take him shopping for better hats and possibly get him a haircut and maybe convince him to get some sun in the Western Approach. “The smiths do that,” he said slowly, wandering, turning away from her and her boots. “Shaping, sharpening, smoothing.”

The Inquisitor sighed. “So you didn’t clean my boots?”

“It likes you,” was all Cole said, and nothing she said got anything more from him.

Her dreams that night were fevered, filled with shadows and heated touches. Invisible hands stroked her, caressed her, made her body burn for more, and mouths lingered on her neck, her breasts, the hollow of her hips. Fingers dipped between her legs, making her arch and cry out, and she woke in the middle of the night covered in sweat and gasping, unfulfilled.

In the darkness, she clutched her sheets in her hands and sucked in labored breaths, wondering if she should go to Cullen or Bull or even Solas. Eventually, when her breathing slowed and reason returned, she curled up alone, but she pulled her blankets over her head, unable to shake the feeling someone was watching her. It wasn’t a malevolent sense, but it was discomfiting.

The sensation didn’t go away in the following weeks. The dreams grew more intense, so much so that she sometimes woke to orgasms that had her back arched and her toes curled in her sheets. When she didn’t wake coming, her fingers delved between her splayed legs, sliding into her slick heat until she brought herself over that trembling edge. And still the feeling of being watched lingered.

Three days before they were due to leave for Orlais, her dress uniform went missing. She ran through the halls of Skyhold, desperately searching for it in every nook and cranny and supply closet until Josephine grabbed her by the shoulders. “What is going on?” she demanded.

“Skyhold ate my dress uniform,” the Inquisitor replied, deadly serious, meaning every word.

Solas, standing nearby, straightened. “Skyhold is a building, Inquisitor. A very old, very powerful, very magical building, but a building nonetheless.”

The Inquisitor pressed her lips into a thin line. “It. Ate. My. Uniform.”

“You have simply misplaced it,” Josie said, tone placating. “Or perhaps Cole is trying to help?”

A scowl crossed the Inquisitor’s face. “After I accosted him about the boots—”

“What happened with your boots?” Solas asked.

She ignored him. “—he’s been staying out of my space.” Her brow furrowed. “I think I hurt his feelings. Josie, remind me to do something nice for Cole the next time I’m out doing things.”

“I will add it to my list,” Josie deadpanned. “Now about your uniform.”

The Inquisitor balked, paled, and felt dread slam into her stomach like a druffalo. Or maybe like one of those Venatori with a tower shield. She’d gotten shield bashed by one the other day and her left shoulder still wasn’t quite right. “It’s gone. Skyhold ate it.”

Josie dropped her hands with a sigh. “We will find you another one,” she said, and she hurried off with a harried expression.

As the Inquisitor stood in the hallway, nibbling her thumbnail, deep in thought, Solas slipped up to her. “I can assure you, Inquisitor, Skyhold could not have eaten your uniform,” he said.

She shot him a venomous look. “The ancient, magical, elven fortress that’s borderline sentient can’t clean my boots and eat my uniform?” She sighed, then, and shrugged. “I guess it’s not a complete loss. I really hated that uniform anyway. Of course we have to wear it, we’re going as the Inquisition, but I was hoping for a dress.”

“A dress?” he asked, surprised. “I did not take you for a woman who enjoyed such trappings.”

With a dreamy sigh, the Inquisitor smiled. “Fitted through the chest and torso,” she said, smoothing her hands over her waist, ignoring the strangled sound Solas made. “The bodice covered in intricate, delicate embroidery. Silver thread on green velvet. A scandalously low décolletage made somewhat more decent with lace. And Thedas’s fullest skirt, done with seed pearls and ribbons and even more lace. So many fripperies and fineries that all of Orlais would be jealous.” She sighed again.

And two hours later, she found that dress on her bed. She blinked at it, not sure if she ought to be horrified or not, before snatching it in her hands and running through the keep. “Solas!” she shrieked, brandishing the dress overhead like a weapon. “Solas, you son of a bitch, I’m going to string you up by your ears and peel your skin off your body!”

Varric, standing in the great hall with Blackwall and Iron Bull, called out to her. “Isn’t it a bit early to be threatening bodily harm, Inquisitor?”

She skidded to a halt in front of them, shook out the dress, and held it out for them to see. It was just as she’d described it, but somehow even more beautiful. And she knew it would fit her like a glove if she took the time to try it on. Which she hadn’t. Because Skyhold had eaten her dress uniform and vomited up a dress and she was pretty sure if she put the damn thing on she’d get possessed or something. “Look at this,” she hissed.

“Nice neckline,” Bull said, giving her a lascivious and inviting grin.

The look she gave him could have rusted iron and spoiled silverite.

“It’s very lovely, Inquisitor,” Blackwall said, far more diplomatic. “Are you wearing it to the ball in Orlais?”

She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat.

“And here I thought we were all going in matching uniforms,” Varric drawled. “Lucky you, getting something different.”

Another strangled sound escaped her.

“You were about to skin Solas alive?” Varric prompted.

Clutching the dress to her chest, she glared at them all. “I’m going to rip off his head and feed it to him.”

“Now that’s an interesting idea…” Bull said, a thoughtful expression on his face. “If completely impossible.”

“I will make it possible,” she snarled, spinning on her heel and all but smacking into Solas’s chest.

“You were threatening bodily harm, Inquisitor?” he asked, giving her that smug, know-it-all bastard look of his. That one he wore whenever he was talking about the Fade and elves. Insufferable, sexy, know it all jackass. “What can I do for you?”

She took a step back and held up the dress. “It threw up a dress. Skyhold threw up a dress.”

Solas regarded the gown for a long, silent moment with an expression of intense curiosity. Of course he would find this curious instead of downright disturbing. “It’s a lovely dress.”

The Inquisitor dragged one hand down her face wondering what she’d done over the course of her Blighted life to deserve this. “Skyhold threw it up. It was waiting for me on my bed.”

Behind her, Varric snickered. “Maybe Red just took pity on you,” he said, “and got you something nicer than what the rest of us get to wear.”

“Who am I taking pity on?”

The Inquisitor whirled on Leliana and thrust the dress at her. “Did you do this?” she demanded. “For the love of all that is good in the world, please tell me you did this.”

Leliana took the dress by the waist, spreading it out, and positively cooed. “I haven’t seen craftsmanship so fine in years,” she purred, stroking one hand over the velvet bodice. “Look how tiny and perfect these stitches are.” Her hands slipped down the skirt and she gasped with delight. “And there are even pockets for hiding daggers! Inquisitor, where did you get this?”

The Inquisitor fixed Varric with a look of death that would have given even Corypheus a moment’s pause. Bull had the good sense to shuffle slowly backwards, muttering excuses before fleeing. Blackwall followed a moment later with much less grace.

“It is a nice dress,” Varric groused.

“A dress that a Blighted keep threw up on my bed!” the Inquisitor exclaimed. She spun about, jabbing a finger into Solas’s chest. “You! We are going into the Fade to find whatever psychotic spirit is doing this and putting an end to it.”

Solas let out a long suffering sigh. “It doesn’t work quite like that, Inquisitor. Such a journey would be—”

“So help me, Solas, if you don’t do the Fade walking thing with me right now I will rip open a Fade rift the size of a high dragon right on top of your face.”

“Perhaps I can manage something,” he said quickly.

Somewhat appeased, the Inquisitor tugged the dress out of Leliana’s hands. “But I was admiring it!” Leliana protested.

“I need it back in case it’s possessed,” the Inquisitor said. “Because then I’m going to burn it.”

“That’s a bit overwrought, Inquisitor, don’t you—” Solas broke off when she leveled that iron-rusting look on him. “As you will, of course,” he said slowly, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.

The Inquisitor wasn’t placated. Not by a long shot. But she was willing to work with him as he prepared them for their journey into the Fade, which included an herbal tea. “To help you relax,” he said.

“I am relaxed,” she spat, and as she said it, she felt a vicious twinge in her damaged shoulder. The repercussions of moving with too much tension. Solas looked at her without expression, and she met his gaze with a flat look of her own. “Give me the damn tea.”

He gave her the damn tea. They both drank a cup, sitting in barely comfortable chairs in the Inquisitor’s bedroom. She was fairly certain this wasn’t going to work for all Solas seemed to know everything about the Fade. As she slouched in her chair, waiting for the potion to take effect, she reflected on that. His knowing things about the Fade, that is. “You know too much,” she slurred, blinking rapidly, fighting the sudden and heavy pull of sleep.

“Are you planning to kill me, Inquisitor?” he asked, tone deceptively mild.

“Maybe,” she said, and then her eyes closed.

She found herself in the gardens, standing beside Solas. She was wearing the Blighted dress. He was wearing a harlequin costume.

“Well this is different,” she said, grabbing the dress by the neckline and trying to hoist it higher. As it was, the lacy bits barely covered her nipples. Her breasts were small, but the way the dress fit lifted and plumped them she was fairly certain if she bent over, her tits would go everywhere. Convenient for Orlais, maybe, but definitely not for the Fade.

She glanced at Solas. He was staring at her face. Fixedly. There was a faint, red flush on his cheeks. He cleared his throat and turned away.

“Are my tits too much for you?” she asked blithely.

“They’re very…” He coughed. “Present.”

“Well, thanks for not looking too much,” she muttered, trying to stuff them further into the dress and failing miserably. Not that she particularly minded his looking. She didn’t mind any of them looking, really, not when the rest of the world thought of her as the holy Herald of Andraste. It was nice for a man to stare at her tits with want in his eyes.

Kind of like how the exceptionally naked man striding toward them was staring at her.

“Uh,” she said, lifting her hand and pointing.

Solas stepped forward, a look of concern on his face. “You are Tarasyl’an Te’las,” he said, and then he started speaking a string of elvish the Inquisitor couldn’t hope to understand. It seemed like Solas was the only elf in Thedas who had mastery of their language.

And wasn’t that just bizarre. She filed it under Things To Deal With When Awake And Slightly Less Disturbed By Everything Happening In My Life.

So while Solas talked the spirit creature’s ears off, she studied it. Unabashedly male (bless him for his magnificent nudity), he was tall, lithe but defined with lines of muscle. His hair shimmered in the sunlight, some incomprehensible color, and it fell down his back in waves. The Inquisitor had the sudden desire to card her fingers through those locks, to cling to them while he pinned her to a wall, a bed, the ground, and thrust into her. She’d nibble on his delicately pointed ears, suck them into her mouth as he rode her, and—

Well, that line of thought was ridiculous. He was a spirit. She knew better than to fuck a spirit.

He glanced at her, his eyes iridescent and scintillating, and she took a step back. A feral, hungry grin flashed across his face but instead of frightening her it left her wet. Trembling. “The dress suits,” he said, speaking right over Solas. He took a step toward her, and the garden dissolved. They were, quite suddenly, standing in her bedroom. Except it wasn’t her bedroom at all.

The whole place glittered, but not in a tacky, everything-is-diamonds way. It was like starlight had been worked into the very stones. Sunlight poured through stain glass windows, painting vibrant pictures across the glimmering walls. The Inquisitor sucked in a breath as she turned, slowly, taking the whole sight in. It was mind-bogglingly beautiful, defying words – not that she was very good with words, that was all Josephine, making her sound smart and clever.

Then she realized Solas was gone. “Where’d Solas go?” she asked as she turned back to the spirit creature. That was when she realized the dress was different, too.

She glanced down at herself and went completely still. If the walls were made of starlight, she was wearing the moon. The fabric, soft and sumptuous, wrapped her body in such a way that it covered everything and yet remained entirely scandalous. In places, it was nearly translucent. Light rippled across it, warm and comforting.

The Inquisitor looked at the spirit, blinking rapidly. “Um,” she finally said, gesturing vaguely to the whole of everything around them. “Do you have a name?”

“Skyhold,” he said, striding toward her. If she was wearing the moon, he wore the sun. The fabric was rich and red and she swore arcs of fire lined the hems.

She took a step back, not because she was scared but because that’s what she did when people walked toward her. She stepped back and to the side and then they passed her by and she put a dagger in their back. So much easier than flinging around fireballs. So much more prudent, too. Everyone always saw the fireball coming. No one expected a knife in the kidney.

But when she turned, so did he, and then he was dragging her against him and all she could think was He’s hung like a battlenug.

“Um,” she said aloud, again, stupidly. So close to him, she was able to see the absolute perfection of his face in perfect clarity. “Did you make that face yourself or were you born with it?”

“I made it for you.” He paused. “That disturbs you?”

It probably should have disturbed her. A lot. On a fundamental level. Instead, she was oddly charmed. “Why?”

“Because I like you. I was lonely, but then you came and brought life back. I want you to stay, so I want you to like me.” He gave her a broad, charming smile. “I made a face that you would like.”

She pursed her lips. “You’ve been giving me the fever dreams.”

The brightness of his face became dark, a passionate storm of desire flickering in those unfathomable, iridescent eyes. “You’re beautiful when you come,” he said, voice thick and rough. “Muscles straining, taut with pleasure, body arching and aching.” She shivered at the words, as he drew her closer, as his hands parted the folds of her dress until fabric pooled at her feet and she was left in a heavy gold necklace and nothing else. His finger hooked in the necklace, traveling along it, and he drew her flush against him. “I want to taste you.”

Shivering, she slid her hands over his chest, trying to push his clothes off the same way he’d removed hers. She couldn’t, though, couldn’t fathom the intricate magic that wreathed him in fire. Giving up, she twined her arms around his neck. “You already have,” she breathed, her voice just as husky as his. “Nightly.”

“Just in dreams. You’re here now.” He pulled her arms from around his neck and went to his knees, nuzzling the juncture of her thighs.

She should have felt vulnerable, naked as she was while he still wore all his clothes. Instead, with him kneeling at her feet, reverence in his eyes, she felt power. Power over an ancient, monolithic keep that contained untold mysteries. And the spirit that possessed it wanted her.

Fucking him was a terrible idea. Which was precisely why she took a few steps back, until her back touched a pillar, pulling him with her. She leaned against the pillar, draping her leg over his shoulder.

He met her gaze, his eyes positively smoldering with lust. And then, gaze still on hers, he leaned forward and touched his tongue between her legs.

She swore and he laughed, and then his tongue was pressing into her, laving her, licking her, lapping up every drop of arousal he coaxed out of her. If there was ever a creature devoted to her pleasure, it was this one. He left no part of her cunt untasted, and with every stroke of his tongue little sounds of delight came from him. Those noises made heat flare in her belly, made her hot and desperate.

He added a finger, sliding it deep inside her. She let out a gasp, eyes going wide as he curled it against her muscles, rubbing the pad of his finger over a spot inside her that had her seeing stars. Literal stars, not just the shimmering walls all around them.

Trembling, she threaded her fingers in his hair. The sane part of her mind (which she thought was also a rather stupid part) wanted her to pull him off her. She should run, find Solas, and get out of the Fade. The not so sane part of her mind, the part she was much more inclined to agree with, pointed out she hadn’t gotten laid in years and the spirit was doing a much better job than any of her other lovers ever had.

She was going to be damned for this. Whatever waited for her after death, it was going to be punishment for letting a spirit have its wicked way with her in the Fade. And she didn’t even care.

Gasping, she arched into his mouth, rocking her hips against his face as he lashed her clit with his tongue, brutally intense in his efforts to pleasure her. She felt him humming against her, a slight vibration that, combined with his finger inside her, pushed her, at last, over the edge. She came with a cry, her fingers clutching at that beautiful, silken hair of his.

Somehow, they ended up in the bed. Her back hit the sheets, and she had the irrational thought that the sheets felt like clouds, and then he fell over her. His skin seared her with heat, blazing like the sun but not burning, and he was inside her in a second. His cock was big enough that it was almost too much. But it didn’t hurt, it just filled, and she was gasping, coming again, drowning in the pleasure of his touch.

He fucked her for what felt like hours but was probably only seconds. The Fade was strange, its paths twisted, and she couldn’t rightly comprehend half of the things he did to her. At one point, he stroked her hair and she thought his fingers passed into her skull to probe her brain. The result was blinding pleasure so great she thought she would burst.

With his hands on her hips, clutching her with bruising strength, he filled her, slaked his need on her body, slaked her need. Every time she thought it might be nice for him to touch her, kiss her, lick her, he was there and performing that act. Half of her wondered if she hadn’t conjured him, if this wasn’t another fever dream born of loneliness and sexual desperation.

When he finally came, he filled her to overflowing with his seed. If spirits even had seed. She didn’t care, really, except that the flood of heat and the ecstasy on his face was so overwhelmingly beautiful she had to kiss him. He tasted like fire and the wind on a summer day, of solid earth and reassurance.

She woke on the floor, gasping, with Solas staring at her.

“That,” he said, “should not have happened.”

She dragged a hand down her face. Through her hair. Sucked in a sharp breath. She’d gone from naked with a spirit balls deep in her to clothed and on the hard, uncomfortable floor of her room. “The part where he kicked you out of the Fade or the part where he—” She broke off. Peered at him. “Let’s pretend this didn’t happen. Let’s pretend you don’t know this about me.”

He gave her a long, considering look. “As long as the spirit of this place doesn’t trouble you or cause us harm,” he said slowly.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t call it trouble at all.” She sank onto the floor, not bothered by the hardness of it at all. Limp, boneless, she smiled stupidly at the ceiling. “I’m just going to lay here for a while. You tell everyone we figured it out. Everything is fine.”

He hesitated before leaving her, but leave her he did.

She poured herself another generous helping of that herbal tea and passed out on her bed. Skyhold was waiting for her in her dreams.

The rest of her companions, bless them, never asked why she never lost her socks. They didn’t wonder how there was always a glass of exorbitantly expensive wine within her reach. They didn’t question the fact that she could open a door that should have lead to a closet only to find the gardens on the other side. They were good people, her companions.

She supposed, when she got letters inquiring after her many adventures from friends and family, that it would be easier to tell them she’d tripped and fallen onto either Solas or Cullen’s dick. But in the end, she preferred shagging Skyhold. The fringe benefits were mighty nice, too.

[prettysherlocksoldier]

"Please, come with me" Johnlock style 💜💜💜

My dear friend @mssmithlove1 is sick today, so I took some extra special care with this one. Get well soon, frand!!💜💜

——————————————————————-

“Hold still.”

“But people are going in!”

“And you can too if you hold still!” Molly tugged at the completed knot of his tie, tightening it into his throat. “Oops,” she deadpanned, loosening it with a smile as he coughed. “There.” She centered the striped navy tie between his slate grey lapels, plucking a piece of lint from his white dress shirt. “I wouldn’t be embarrassed of you at all.”

“Cheers,” he grumbled, fishing his buzzing mobile out of his dark jeans, a casual counterpoint he hoped would make him look less desperate.

It was a text from Sherlock, three words that made his blood run cold even without understanding them

‘I’m so sorry!’

“What is it?” Molly asked, concerned at what he was sure was a rapidly paling complexion. “Has something happened?” She didn’t wait for an answer, stepping forward and bending her head to read the message on his screen. “An exclamation point? From Sherlock?” Her head gave a slow shake. “That can’t be good.”

“John Watson?”

John’s brown loafers squeaked in a spin on the tile, plastic wrap crinkling as he clutched the half dozen roses to his chest like a gentlewoman’s pearls.

The man standing there was unfamiliar, short and stocky, his hands wringing in front of him as a nervous smile puffed his portly features. “I’m Mr. Brogan. I’m part of the executive committee for the arts here at Imperial.”

John blinked, unsure why he was supposed to care, but proper manners compelled him to extend a hand. “John. But you knew that,” he muttered, bobbing the man’s hand in the air. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Mr. Brogan replied. “I’m sorry to interrupt”—he waved a hand at Molly—“but Mrs. Holmes wanted to be sure you didn’t lose your seat.”

John’s mouth fell open, uncertain where to even start with that mindfuck of a sentence. “Mrs. …Holmes?”

Mr. Brogan nodded brightly, oblivious to John’s internal monologue of terrified screaming. “They’re up front. Please”—he turned toward the door, waving an arm in beckoning—“come with me.”

John stared, eyes shifting between his jovial smile and the door up ahead, heart drumming a death march in his ears.

Molly’s hands clamped down around his free one, giving a comforting squeeze as he turned. “I’ll catch up with you after,” she assured, and then pulled away, heading toward the door and abandoning him in his hour of need.

He swallowed, looking back to Mr. Brogan’s expectant expression. “Okay,” he squeaked, battling to keep his breathing even as Mr. Brogan guided him into the auditorium.

His hand twitched at his side, and he shoved it in his pocket, the opposite fingers tightening around the small bouquet, ridged remnants of thorns digging into his sweaty palms. He scanned the front few rows as they approached, but the lights on the stage turned everyone into silhouettes, making it impossible to prepare himself until Mr. Brogan stopped in front of a woman in the exact center of the front row.

She looked…normal, a simple floral dress flowing down from a black jacket, her hands folded over a red clutch in her lap. Her hair was on the whiter end of grey, pulled back with a large silver clip to leave her fringe wisping over her forehead, her soft features seeming every bit the opposite of Sherlock’s sharp lines and shadows, but then she lifted her chin, the piercing blue gaze that settled on him all too familiar.

“There you are! Thank you, Clark,” she said as she rose, the man accepting his dismissal with a nod. “So sorry to spring this on you, dear, but I simply couldn’t go another minute without meeting you. Sherlock’s been so secretive.”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “No problem at all, Mrs. Holmes. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you too.” He took a subtle deep breath and extended a hand. “I’m John. John Watson.”

“Oh, none of that,” Mrs. Holmes fussed, swatting his arm aside and pulling him into a hug, John’s arms barely recovering from shock enough to lift around her back before she was fluttering away again. “And call me Violet, please. Mrs. Holmes was my mother-in-law.” She flashed a conspiratorial grimace, and then stepped back, gesturing to the man who had risen behind her. “This is my husband, Siger.”

The man was tall and slim, more similar to Sherlock’s frame than his mother’s, but had warm brown eyes and a face wrinkled from years of laughter. He was wearing dark trousers and a loose burgundy cardigan, his simple checked shirt fastened with a grey bowtie at the collar, more the picture of a history professor than the austere authoritarian John had imagined.

“Mr. Holmes,” he said, inclining his chin, the man reaching forward to envelop his hand in a warm grip. “It’s good to meet you.”

“You as well, John, you as well,” he replied, rattling John’s hand with more strength than one would give him credit for. “Sherlock’s told us so much about you. You know, I was captain of my university rugby team too.”

“Really?” John asked, relieved to have such easy common ground, but Mrs. Holmes cut in before Siger’s opening mouth could continue.

“Now, now, dear, there’ll be plenty of time to bore him with your glory days later.”

Mr. Holmes smiled, dipping John a nod and retaking his seat as Violet looped her arm through John’s free one, guiding him to the last in their party.

“And you’ve met Mike, of course.”

“Mycroft, mother; you wrote it on the birth certificate and everything.”

“Actually, that was your father,” she explained, tipping her head at the man. “I was high as a kite!”

“Mother,” Mycroft snapped, standing up and tugging at his already impeccable suit jacket. “Jonathan,” he greeted with a nod, and John sighed, rolling his eyes before he could stop himself.

“It really is just John,” he muttered, though it hadn’t done any good the first two times he’d been forced to endure Mycroft’s company. “On my birth certificate and everything.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed. “I know,” he said, a note of menace to it, and John frowned, tipping his head and scanning between the man’s eyes.

“How would you-”

“Don’t let Mike scare you, dear,” Violet interjected, patting him on the arm. “He’s always running his little background checks. Should’ve seen his face when he found out I’d been arrested for protesting.” She rolled her eyes, gaze landing on the flowers at John’s side. “Oh, what an unusual rose!” she chirped, opening a hand in question, and John obliged, passing her the bouquet. “I used to have a bush like this, I think. I grow them, you see. Roses.” She flicked up a smile, gently brushing her fingers over the striped scarlet and cream petals. “Don’t suppose you remember the name.”

“Abracadabra,” John supplied, taking the blooms back, the name and general oddity of their appearance the only reason he hadn’t felt ridiculous getting flowers at all.

She snapped her fingers. “That’s what it was! And such a thoughtful gesture! Don’t you think, dear?”

“Yes, quite,” Mr. Holmes answered, smiling up at them, and John found himself embarrassed for the first time in their company, grateful as the lights in the auditorium flashed, urging them to their seats.

“Ooo, it’s starting!” She bounced against his arm, shuffling them back to their chairs. “He’s been doing these shows since he could walk and I still get so excited.”

John chuckled, settling into the vacant spot beside her. “My sister did piano for a while,” he remarked, watching the stage as the last of the audience filed into place. “It was…less exciting.”

Violet laughed, snapping open her clutch and pulling out two caramels wrapped in crinkling dark plastic. “People tend to shush me if I open these in the middle,” she said, handing him one with a wink, and John smiled, hastily shoving the wrapper in his pocket and popping the candy into his mouth as Violet distributed her wares through the group.

Mycroft declined.

“So,” she said, the caramel a small bump in her cheek as she spoke, “have you ever seen any ballet before?”

“I-I’ve seen Sherlock practice a few times,” he admitted, wondering if he should, but he didn’t suppose Sherlock’s mother would guess at his more…intimate motivations for hanging about the studio after class, “but never a proper show.”

“Oh, well, even this isn’t a proper show,” she scoffed, waving a hand at the stage. “Sherlock is wonderful, of course—not that I need to tell you that—but you never get the full experience with these showcases.”

John nodded, sure that was true. “My sister went to see The Nutcracker last Christmas with her fiancée, Clara,” he said without thinking, though he supposed he would know by now if any of the Holmeses were harboring homophobic tendencies. “She didn’t like it, but Clara said it was amazing.”

“It is, it is,” Violet emphatically agreed, nodding so vigorously, she blurred. “The Nutcracker and Swan Lake are must-sees. I also quite liked Sleeping Beauty, but that might be the Disney princess in me.”

John shrugged. “I think there’s a little Disney princess in all of us.”

“Too right,” she replied, and then chuckled, curling a hand over his forearm with a small gasp as the lights dimmed. “Here we go!” she squealed, wriggling in her seat, and John smiled, settling back in his chair and lifting his arm to the armrest when it became clear Violet wasn’t intending to let go.

They chatted through the duller portions of the program—Violet supplying surprisingly riveting gossip about some of the dancers’ parents she knew from her various societies—and sat silent through others, a tissue appearing from her red purse when Sherlock’s group concluded, Violet dabbing her eyes and muttering something about being silly John assured her wasn’t true.

When the applause was over—obligatory and otherwise—they all filed out into the lobby, small groups gathering here and there as dancers slowly appeared from backstage to join their families. Molly found him a few minutes later, waving from a distance to get his attention before giving him a double thumbs-up and making her exit, her save-me services no longer required. They were halfway through breaking down what could possibly be going on in one of the abstract paintings on display when a very ruffled Sherlock appeared, struggling with his half-on jacket as he elbowed his way through the crowd.

“Mother!” he hissed, coming to rest at John’s shoulder. “You told me you’d wait until after!”

“I said no such thing,” Violet replied, lifting her chin in a stubborn gesture John was very familiar with, “and, besides, we had a wonderful time. I don’t know what you were so worried about. We’re not that embarrassing.”

Sherlock drew in a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose like his head might explode otherwise, and then blinked, brow creasing as he frowned at the flowers in John’s hand. “Are those for me?” he asked with all his usual grace, pointing down at them, and John laughed, shaking his head and lifting the roses to his chest.

“Might be,” he smirked, “but Mycroft’s been quite the charmer tonight as well. Don’t suppose you’d be up for splitting them?”

Mycroft huffed, Violet giggling while Mr. Holmes smiled in a well-accustomed way, Sherlock looking between them like he’d just seen a ghost throw up.

“What- What is happening?”

“We’re going to dinner,” Violet answered, stepping forward and looping her arm through John’s once more, Sherlock’s eyes fixing on the contact and threatening to leap from his head. “You don’t mind riding with your father, do you, dear? John said he’d take me in his car. It’s been an age since I rode in a convertible!” She giggled, Sherlock doing a perfect impression of a marble statue except for his owlish blinking.

“I- I guess no-”

“Excellent!” Violet exclaimed, tightening her grip and marching John toward the doors. “We’ll meet you there. I assume we’ll get there first,” she added to John, and he bowed a solemn nod.

“Of course,” he swore, turning over his shoulder to grin at Sherlock’s slack-jawed expression. He bounced the flower stems into the palm of his hand, testing the trajectory with a few short swings, and then launched the bouquet over his shoulder, the roses arcing in the air before landing petal-up in Sherlock’s waiting hands.

Sherlock seemed a little more like himself, looking up from the bouquet with a quizzical expression, a corner of his mouth lifting when John winked.

“You know, son,” John heard Mr. Holmes say before they faded from earshot, “I think that means you’re next.”

[addicted2worts]

SMILES (1)

AO3 

Synopsis: Elias is hiding in a broom closet when he meets Lady, the girl who singlehandedly murders the horde of zombies hanging outside his door with nothing but a serrated knife, a pair of short shorts and a whole lot of sex appeal. He's grateful and embarrassed and thinks that she's probably at least a bit insane, but well Lady takes off her mask and well...Turns out Lady's kinda really more of a Lad and Elias is just really confused.Welcome to the zombie apocalypse everyone.

1.

I’d wanted to start this off kinda flashy; really grab your attention right off y'know? Like some modern day Dickens or somethin', all clever and stuff. The way I see it, that's the best way to make sure you’ll pay attention to what I have to say. Like really pay attention. Not that half assed, nodding along in the right place bullshit you rich city-folk like to do while sipping from those tall skinny glasses I always see in them movies. Naw, I don't need no part o' that.

 I ain't so good with words, but you knew that already. I wish I was, don't get me wrong, Lord knows I wish I was better with a 'em, 'specially now, but I ain't. But you knew that already, too.

 Shee-it, I don't know why this is so hard. I know people like you hardly care for people like me. And I know that becomes doubly true when it looks like we’re tryin’ too hard. So 'm sorry if I am, but just bare with me a li'l longer. If only because it's important, real important. Like real, real, important.

 It was the best of times and the worst of times, but mostly it was the worst on account’a all the zombies.

 P.S: Sorry for all the scratch-outs. We’re runnin’ a li’l low on paper.

 P.P.S: Wouldn't touch the stains.

 P.P.P.S: Kidding.

   The door swung open with a mighty crash and Elias flinched, scurrying into the space he’d cleared between the metal rack and the wall. The concrete ground, chipped and cracking, was rough on his hands, every jolt of it against his knees sending a wave of fresh pain through his throbbing ankle. Elias pushed himself against the wall. His machete was held up weakly in front of him—more like a shield than a weapon (or anything else remotely dangerous)—and though his arms were trembling a truly ridiculous amount, he schooled his face into, what he hoped, was something of a fierce expression.

 “Wh-who’re yuh?” He demanded. Or attempted to. The effect was pretty lame with how much his voice cracked right in the beginning. He licked his lips and tried again, “who’re yuh?” He said. The tremor was definitely more noticeable that time but at least his voice didn’t warble up three octaves. He wasn’t sure if that was any better though.

 The person at the door laughed. “Cute,” they said, their voice was whisper soft and rasping. Feminine but a little low and muffled as if coming from behind something, “that’s not how you use a machete you know,” they continued. A pause. Elias just stared, squinting against the light. They sighed. “It’s a weapon not your dirty laundry, treat it with a little respect, huh sugah?” The stranger stepped the rest of the way into the room and casually kicked the blade out of Elias’s hands with the tip of a steel toed stiletto. Elias blinked, chasing the rest of the spots of light out of his eyes as he finally looked up at the figure standing in front of him.

 “Oh,” he said eloquently.

 Elias’s savior (if that’s indeed what they were) came dressed in fishnets and shorts so short that if he was being honest, they made him a little uncomfortable to look at. A gasmask covered their face (which explained the voice) and a loose-fitting denim jacket rested across their shoulders and covered literally nothing else. He could feel the color rising to his cheeks already and he quickly ducked his gaze back down, his hands clutching at the cross around his neck like pearls. His mama raised him to be a good Christian boy and Elias was pretty sure if he had looked any longer he’d have damned himself straight to hell. Of course, that was assuming that he wasn’t there already. The whole zombie thing kinda made him wonder. He gripped his cross a little tighter.

 “Uh, can Ah, uh, ask yuh somethin’ ma’am?” He asked.

 Fishnets sighed. “I’m not going to kill you if that’s what you’re wondering,” she droned in the same drawling tone as earlier, “honestly if I’d wanted you dead I’d have just waited for the zombies to get at you, instead of, oh, killing all twenty of them myself,” Elias chanced another glance up at his mysterious savior with a wince, an apology on the tip of his tongue. He was met with tan skin the color of roasted caramel, painted nails and a flat stomach. The words caught in his throat. His blush deepened. “Which by the way, was not easy. Give me your pack.”

 Elias bit his lip, then frowned, “and why d’yuh want muh pack?”

 “Compensation,” she said holding out a painted hand. There were rings all over the fingers, “for saving you. Spoils of war. Or whatever. So, give it up.”

 Elias pressed himself further against the wall. “Can’t yuh jus’ take a ‘thank yuh kindly ma’am’ and a stale granola?”

“I’ll take both,” she deadpanned. The fingers of her free hand played idly with her hip, this one had a leather glove strapped to it.

Elias squirmed in his spot on the floor. “Ah can’t give yuh muh pack miss,” he mumbled, “we don’t have that many and Ah was on a supply run before Ah got myself separated from the others.”

“Cute,” Fishnets somehow managed to make cute sound like an insult, “and how’d you manage that?”

“Ah, well,” Elias wasn’t sure if he could get any redder, but he felt like his face and neck were making a valiant effort, “Ah went left?”

“…You went…left?”

He winced. “Instead of right?”

A pause. “I can’t tell if you’re actually an idiot or if you’re secretly a genius but that’s probably the dumbest story I’ve ever heard.”

Elias glared. “It’s true! Then Ah tripped, sprained muh ankle, lost muh gun, and almost brained myself on muh machete before limping to this here broom closet.”

Another pause.

“You probably shouldn’t tell anyone else that,” Fishnets said, “like seriously sugah, I’m going all red just hearing about it. Not that I really can turn red what with my complexion and all, but still.”

“Probably,” Elias mumbled in agreement. He hadn’t really meant to say all that in the first place, “but Ah can’t give yuh muh pack.” He chanced a glance back up at Fishnets who was somehow managing to look completely unimpressed while covering the entirety of her face with a bulky WWII contraption. She was probably thinking about stabbing him, he realized. Or something equally brutal. She did just kill twenty zombies without breaking a sweat in nothing but a pair of fishnets, a bra, high-heels, and short-shorts. And that nasty looking knife strapped to her lower back.

Elias bit his lip, eyes widening, and he gave her his best pleading expression. The one that said, ‘I know it’s the apocalypse and most people like to pretend kindness is extinct but please don’t stab, maim or kill me for what you want’. She groaned.

“Okay, fine, Jesus, I won’t like knock you out and just take the damn thing, okay.”

Oh, thank God. Elias let out a visible sigh of relief.

“But, you’ve still got to do something for me.”

Elias cocked his head to the side, “what d’yuh want then?”

Fishnets nodded at Elias’s jacket. Specifically, to the bull sewn unevenly to the front. “That patch means you’re with the Dynamo’s yeah?”

Elias nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Okay cool, awesome,” Fishnets clapped her hands together, “I want you to take me to them. My uh…boss…wants me to send your boss a message.”

Elias blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it, reasonable right?” Fishnets crossed her arms over her chest, “you guys are really hard to find by the way.”

Yeah. He could do that. “Uh, well…Ah…uh…Ah guess I can do that.”

“Great!” Fishnets hopped a bit on her feet excitedly. She headed towards the door. “well let’s go then.”

Right. Elias carefully pushed himself back to his feet, grabbing his discarded machete and using it as a brace as he pulled himself up. Shee-it did that hurt. He certainly hoped his ankle was only sprained.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Elias reached into his back pocket and pulled out his last granola, offering the crushed thing to Fishnets with shaky fingers.

“Think Ah still owe yuh a granola and a ‘thank yuh ma’am’,” he groaned out between pained breaths, “…so…uh...thank yuh ma’am.”

“Oh! Right!” Fishnets snatched the offered morsel from his outstretched palm, “almost forgot about that. Hmmm.” She quickly pat herself down before settling on jamming the bar in between her bra. Elias coughed and looked away. There were a few more clicking sounds and then a loud sigh. Elias looked back up. Blinked. And temporarily forgot all about the pain in his ankle.

Cause Fishnets had taken off her mask.

And she wasn’t a she at all.

“Shee-it,” Elias said.

“God was that thing getting hot,” Fishnets groaned, hand on her…his, hip. And Christ was that a trip. He took the bar out of his bra and ripped the wrapper open with his teeth before taking a sizeable bite out of it. “Mmmm,” he groaned, “that’s good,” he looked back up at Elias and cocked his head to the side as if giving him a once over. “I’m Lady by the way.”

“Elias,” Elias replied, cause his mama raised him right and that meant no matter how confused you suddenly were in the zombie apocalypse you always, always remained polite.

“Cool, nice to meet you, or not, or whatever I don’t really care," Lady gave him a crooked toothed smile, "thanks for the bar though. I really needed it. Killing zombies takes it out of a girl you know?”