#contemplating how to paint one of my dolls green or red

[seeminglyseph]

I think to cope while I watch I’m gonna look at LARP costumes and put together a Karna fan design specially because I. Like costume design. So. Maybe. I can draw some concept stuff. And just. Practice fandom longevity. Just because it’s over doesn’t mean I have to stop caring. I can care forever.

I can care about Karna for like 30 years if I want to and no one can stop me. Come to Canada and make me. XP

[binniesthighs]

two tails | reader x minho |

Two 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x lee minho 

Genre: strangers to lovers, neighbors to lovers, fluff 

Tags:  neighbors au, comfort fic, catowner!minho, catowner!reader, author!reader, bestfriend!seungmin, coworker!hyunjin, florist!jisung, punk!jisung (yeah boiiii), agedup!skz, slow burn, plot-driven, gradual romance, lil bit of angst, strained parental relationship, explicit language, mentions of food, passive body shaming 

Word count: 5.5k (y e e t we love self indulgence) 

Tagging: @lauraneuuh​

Chapters 

P | ONE | TWO | THREE

busybody noun 

:an officious or inquisitive person. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

There are a couple things that your mother is known for--or rather, a couple things that she has been deemed. 

Mother, wife, friend, matriarch, socialite, unofficial event planner, gossip, show off, professional nagger, and, to certain people, bitch. 

And yet, somehow your mother was intertwined with some of the most prominent circles within the city, and she knew everything about everyone’s business. Frankly, she often didn’t have anything better to to with her time. ” If she had any job at all, it would be calling you every weekend to give her opinions on your rather “less than auspicious” life choices. 

To her, another one of your “less than auspicious” life choices had to do with the way that you had dressed yourself; however little sense this made. 

Your mother sipped at her tea with dainty fingers, barely cracking with age due to her expensive hand creams. 

“Quickly. Go get changed. We don’t have much more time and you’re dallying. It should fit you, just as long as you haven’t put on any more weight.” Her hawk-like gaze inspected your hips and thighs. “Hmm. I think you’ll be fine.” 

Seungmin, where he sat on the couch with perfect posture tapped his feet up and down with discomfort. 

I hate you for doing this to me, he glared at you with despair, hiding it behind the wide smile he performed for your mother. 

“What? Do you not trust me to be alone with your friend here?” 

Your best friend nervously chuckled out in that little puppy-like way that he would. “What? Ahh no, I’ll be fine, go on Y/n, I should be leaving soon anyway, I was just stopping by.” 

Your mother’s eyes followed you up your staircase, watching for the very moment that you closed your bedroom door. The second you did, her snide voice hissed out loud whispers, undoubtedly drilling Seungmin about the usual questions: are you married, where do you live, what’s your profession, what does your family do etc. 

The little metal zipper of the pencil skirt pinched your fingertips as you attacked it up your body. Once again, your mother had underestimated your clothing size. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes looking at the tags for the designer matching skirt and blazer ensemble. There was nothing in your mother’s life that didn’t denote the status that she “worked so hard for.” 

In a way, you hated that you had done this to Seungmin as well. Initially you had thought that having some kind of male presence over when your mother arrived would deter her stabbing remarks about your singledom, but in fact, it has just made it worse. For once in your life, you just wanted to hold something over her. Now, you’d likely traumatized the best friend that you had. 

You nearly slipped on the carpeted stairs in your nylon stockings on the way down, but held fast the the banister, looking a bit like some kind of sad, business-casual, plastic-looking prom queen. 

Seungmin’s eyes widened seeing you in the toning skirt. Likely you knew that he must’ve been keeping his jokes to himself the very best that he could--you wouldn’t hear the end of it later. 

“Wonderful. Let’s get going.” Your mother set down her teacup with a clink. “I’ve got some cosmetics in the car that you can use as well. We’ll be stopping off at the flower shop before we get to the venue. I’ve ordered an arrangement for the bride-to-be.” 

“I feel like a China doll.” You muttered under your breath, catching a little laugh from your friend. Your eyes met as if to ask him if he was okay, which he rolled his eyes as his answer. 

You put on the only pair of kitten heels that you owned: they were brown, banged up and the pleather was cracking a little at the edges. Of course, your mother let out an exasperated sigh upon seeing them. 

“I’ll bring shoes next time.” 

Seungmin politely opened the door for the both of you and the spring morning’s sun washed your face in it’s warmth. The morning was perfect: the exact kind of day that you would spend in your garden writing or reading on the single-person porch swing you had just installed. Dew still held to the Kelly green blades of grass and your cherry blossom tree bowed a little in the breeze. 

“Well, it was nice meeting and speaking with you Seungmin--” 

“--We’ve met before thou--” 

“--You seem to be a strapping and organized young man. I do hope that you consider what we discussed.” 

Seungmin appeared to flush a little, “I-I’ll think about it.” 

You tugged at your friend’s shirt, pulling him in to whisper, “What the hell did she talk to you about?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” His eyes fluttered around nervously. “She just kept going on about how she wanted me to--”  

“--Oh, Y/n!” 

From your mother’s surprised expression on the other side of the car, to the way that Seungmin stopped dead in his sentence, you knew exactly who that voice belonged to. 

Your body turned around in slow-motion, hoping that this must have been some kind of nightmare, and that you hadn’t woken up that morning yet and were cozily still tucked in bed. 

If it would have been socially acceptable, you would have hidden behind that car until he walked away, but it was too late considering he already knew you were there. 

Your mother let out some kind of ungodly squeal before rushing towards Minho and taking his hand in hers to shake. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you! I take it that you know my daughter? And who might you be, such a handsome man as yourself???” 

You really did contemplate hiding behind that car. 

It was unfair how you had to run him into at a time when he looked like that. Your mother was nearly eating him with her eyes while Minho looked to you in his confusion. 

Of course when your mother had to see him, he was fresh off of his morning run: white cotton sleeveless shirt, running joggers, a thick headband with sweat dripping down his body in rivets from his forehead to the curves of his toned arms. 

Life was just too fucking unfair.  

“Minho!” Internally, you crawled so far into yourself it was like you were barely there. You squeaked out the words coupled with a poorly-timed voice crack, “I didn’t plan on seeing YOu here!” 

“Minho?!” Seungmin echoed your phrase, grabbing onto your arm with force. 

“Uh, hello, nice to meet you I’m Lee Minho. And yes, I do know Y/n, I actually live a couple doors down--” 

“--A neighbor! How wonderful! I know she doesn’t leave the house that much, but I’m so glad that the two of you have met. Do you live your family..? Or...your wife...?” 

He smiled warmly, polite as always, “No Ma’am, I’m not married, I live with my mother.” 

“Your mother? Well, that’s very honorable.” 

You and your best friend locked eyes upon hearing the answer to the question that both of you had been silently wondering. 

With a little eyebrow raised, he gave you a smirk, before braiding his hand through his locks strung with sweat. “I also live with my cats too.” 

“Cats?” Your mother tried her best to hide the distaste in her mouth. “That’s...honorable as well. Taking care of animals is...hm, well, Y/n get in the car, time is ticking!!” 

Your mother’s shrill voice was clipped by the sound of the car door closing behind her. You and your best friend choked in silent laughter together. 

“Are you sure I don’t look ridiculous?” You patted down your itchy grey blazer. 

Seungmin nodded, “Do you want me to tell you the truth? Not your colors. But, you’ll just have to live with it.” 

“I think that you look nice.” Minho’s compliment melted into your skin like honey. “But I agree, the colors don’t work the best. Sorry.” 

“Oh. Thank you...” Your cheeks warmed, “Sorry! God, I’m-this is Seungmin, my-my friend Seungmin, sorry I didn’t introduce you both, my head is just--” 

“--Nice to meet you. Finally.” Seungmin’s expression turned a bit more stoic, a stark contrast to his softer features. 

“Nice to meet you as well.” 

“Okayyyy, well, I’ll just...get going then. See you both...later.” 

Seungmin slammed the door behind you, leaving you with your huffing mother in the car. 

“All of these handsome men around you and you can’t lock down one? I can’t believe you...” She threw her makeup bag on your lap. “I’ll play matchmaker if you want me to, I don’t mind, but you know that I have a lot going on already--” 

“--Haven’t you already started? Don’t pretend like you didn’t tell Seungmin something. Seungmin is my friend, mom.” 

“I just don’t get you. Aren’t you ever a bit sad that you don’t get invited to things like this since you have no female friends...?” 

“Honestly? I don’t really care--” 

“--You should. Thank God that you have me.” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

The front windows to the floral shop winked in the morning sun and the gold lettering of the signage glistened with a similar glow. On the display, there were several dozens of different types of flowers all arranged into different glass vases, tied with bows or swaddled in burlap. The arrangements of roses, chrysanthemums, peonies, daises, sunflowers and other wildflowers appeared to be freshly cut, and beaded with water droplets. 

“Here. Take my card. If any of them seem to be brown at all, tell them that you won’t pay until they fix it.” 

You took the little plastic card from her red painted nails. “Will do.” 

There was a little bell hung over the shop door, and it tinkled when you entered like fairy chimes. The entire place seemed a little magical: the kind of place that you would find yourself reiterating in your writings. On the marble tiled floors, flecks of dirt seemed to gather in the grout. 

The golden brass counter stretched on for nearly the whole length of the shop, and held a display case which doubled as a cooler holding smaller things like corsages and boutonnières. 

“Can I help you?” 

The man approached you wiping the dirt off of his hands onto his canvas apron which was stained with smudges of green and brown. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the tattoos adorning his arms in beautiful patterns of black with muted colors of yellow, lavender and pink. They were nearly all floral in design and reminded you of the drawings from a botany book. His shaggy dark hair had a bit of a curl to it that tasseled over his eyes. His smile too was devastatingly charming, decorating it was a black hooped lip ring. 

“Here to pick up an order?” 

“Y-yes, for L/n.” 

“I just finished that one up, lucky for you.” He palmed through the little stack of receipts near the register. “I’ll go get it real quick.” 

It was criminal how fast you found your heart beating after hearing how strikingly soothing his voice had sounded. You also found your head spinning over how familiar he seemed, like someone you had met before, but couldn’t place where. 

He had brought the sizeable arrangement over, and upon seeing it, you knew that your mother must’ve asked them to pull out all the works. Not only were flowers like this a bit of an unusual bridal shower gift, but it was just one more way for her to show off. The moment that the two of you would arrive with that, heads would turn, and that was exactly what she wanted. It was so large, you had to crane a little to see the florist behind it. 

“That’ll be 360.” 

Never had you been more thankful to pay for a gift with someone else’s money. 

When you passed him the card, you noted the little scrapes up and down his hands and forearms, looking a bit like cat scratches.

“It’s the roses.” He chuckled. “This job is a lot more dangerous than you would think.” 

“Oh.” A heat in your cheeks rose along with his observation of you. 

“Beautiful day isn’t it?” He tapped at the register, then nodded to the sunlight streamlining in from the windows. There were little rainbows speckling the store from the prisms hung above the displays. 

“I-it really is.” 

Your eyes wandered to his nametag which looked like he had decorated with hand-drawn stars. Jisung. Once again, he caught your eyes, slyly rolling his tongue over that black hoop. 

“It’s the kind of day that makes me wish I wasn’t cooped up in here and doing something else; going somewhere else. You seen the cherry blossoms yet?” 

“I-I have one in my yard.” 

“Oh really? It’s my favorite time of year because of them.” 

His smile was a bit in the shape of a heart, and the way that his eyes smiled along with it was just as charming as the rest of him. 

Blaze. 

He was Blaze. 

Quite literally, never in your life could you have said that you had felt your heart skip a beat, but, you imagined that there’s a first time for everything. 

He scribbled down something down on the receipt, handing you both the card and the slip. 

“Have a good one, ‘kay?” 

Had it been socially acceptable, you would have slapped yourself square in the face, right then and there, to snap yourself out of your awe. 

“Yo-you as well.” 

It was a miracle you didn’t drop that expensive-ass floral arrangement getting out of there as fast as you did. 

“What took you so long? People will start wondering where we are.” 

Your mother said a couple more chastising remarks, but they faded away once you looked at the crinkled piece of paper on your hand: 

I hope to see you again, Blossom. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

“Y/n!!! Oh my god, I am so happy to see you. I’ve been decaying, simply drying out in this office all by myself.” 

You swatted your melodramatic friend by the backside of his head, subsequently ruffling up his perfectly primped long, blond hair. 

“Shut up. You’re surviving just fine without me.” 

Hyunjin lowered his voice into a rather loud whisper, “Everyone here is just so boring.” 

“I don’t know what you’re expecting ‘Jin. It’s a publishing company, all we do is read here. You kind of did it to yourself too. Hell, you edit the children’s books!! You don’t have a thing to complain about.” 

“Are you sure that you can’t take an office here? We could eat lunch together, make coffee together from that broken-ass coffee machine, and bitch about Mr. Yoon together. By the way, what are you doing here anyway besides not seeing me?” 

“Picking up a couple manuscripts. I finished the ones from before.” 

“You’re inhuman. I don’t know how you get through 300+ pages over a weekend.” 

You shrugged, “It’s just what I like to do, that’s all. And, no, I will not be taking an office here, not when I have my classes too.” 

“Aren’t you the perfect symbol of adulthood.” Hyunjin pulled up for you the creaky plastic office chair from the empty desk next to his.

“Tell that to my mother, I think she’d have a different oponion.” 

“Screw your mother--and you can tell her that I said that too.” Your coworker fiddled with his white collar, pulling it from his neck. You knew how much he hated those and would have much rather preferred the silky low-cut ones which had become his trademark. 

“If only it were that easy.” 

“How’s Princess Bomi doing?” 

“My cat or the story?” 

“I was talking about the story, but sure, tell me about your cat too.” 

Hyunjin was a sarcastic little shit, but that was why you loved him. Seungmin tended to be the same sometimes--you surmised that perhaps you made the same type of people gravitate towards you. 

“It’s been pretty well received actually, and I think I’m just about done with the first book, there’s probably only a few chapters left. I just passed 8,000 reads.” 

“Wow, that’s actually...really impressive. I mean it.” 

When he wasn’t being a sarcastic little shit, Hyunjin was actually a genuine friend. He had been supportive of your writing ever since he forced the information out of you a few months ago after seeing a your chaotic notes mixed in with your manuscript ones. Of course, he had laughed at the prospect of you naming your main character after your cat, but he understood otherwise. 

“You’ve been getting good feedback?” 

“Mmhm! They really like Bomi as a character, that, and it seems like Blaze has some fans too...” 

Upon saying the same, the boy from the flower shop sneakily crept back into your head along with that stupidly Blaze-like smile of his--or at least, the smile that you had always pictured Blaze to have. 

Hyunjin snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Earth to Y/n? Where did you go?” 

“Huh? Oh sorry, I think I just got...lost in thought.” 

“I said I think that you should really consider brining it to the company. What if they want to publish it? I think that it’s worth a shot. You said yourself that its successful online. What makes you think that people wouldn’t be interested in the print version?”

“I--Hyunjin, Princess Bomi is kind of a personal thing...” 

“--Why do I even bother!” In his mock disgust, Hyunjin crossed his flabbergast arms against his chest. “I’m only trying to give you a helpful suggestion.” 

Above the two of you, the florescent white lights bore down on you with a harsh luminescence. 

“But--” You shyly picked at the hem of your blouse, “I could use your help with something else.” 

“What?” 

“What do you suggest that I wear...to meet someone’s mom?” 

Hyunjin practically leapt out of his chair and three feet into the air. 

“YOU’RE MEETING SOMEONE’S MOTHER?! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!!” 

“Get your ass back down in your seat.” You whipped your head around to see your coworkers concerned glances. “Yes, I am.” 

“Thank God that you asked me. This is a serious matter.” 

“I can’t exactly ask Seungmin...so...” 

“Don’t you worry! I know exactly what you can do. So,” His voice turned sing-songy, “~What’s he like~ And how come you didn’t tell me about this sooner??” 

“-Because I knew that you would have this exact same reaction.” 

“I promise I’ll calm down, okay, go:” 

“Well, he’s my neighbor, and I’ve only met him a few weeks ago, and he’s got cats, and he’s really sweet and not to mention hot as well but in like kind of a... cozy, librarian kind of way? Anyway, he wears cardigans--and you know that I’m a sucker for a good cardigan--and I’m convinced that the universe is trying to get me to destroy him but, that’s beside the point--” 

“Slow down slow down! Literally all of the words you said just now don’t make sense together.” 

You wheeled your chair closer to the man across from you, “And then he asked me to meet his cats and his mom or maybe just his cats or his mom, he was kinda unclear about that now that I think about it...” 

“So he’s hot and has cats, hmm, sounds right up your alley.” 

“I-I guess.” 

“Are you sure he’s not, you know, trying to be neighborly?” 

You punched Hyunjin’s arm so hard you jiggled your glasses on your face. “Don’t ruin this for me.” 

“Sorry I brought it up! Ok, ok, I think I know what you should do. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help you bag this sexy librarian man?” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

“I sure as hell hope that you’re not trying to be neighborly.” 

You smoothed down your freshly ironed blouse: a floral pattern with birds, something “light and springy” just as Hyunjin had recommended. The pleats in your trousers were in shape as well. He had suggested too that you tied your hair up, something about it being professional and “dateable.” 

Bomi sauntered up to you while you inspected your outfit in the full-length mirror. Her gorgeous green eyes were squinted after her day-long nap, and she yawned while she brushed up against your leg. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure Bomi?” You bent down to pat her head, which she promptly shied away from. “You think that this looks good? Mother-worthy?” 

Bomi blinked. 

“Thanks for your input Bo.” 

Another yawn. 

Your nightstand held your little jewelry tree, and from it you took a dainty silver necklace that hung just above the neckline of your blouse, as well as the thin tan wristwatch that you wore once in a blue moon. 

The watch face read 5 o’clock exactly.  

“Shit! Shit shit shit shit!.” 

Bomi scrambled out of your way as you flew around the room trying to find a matching pair of socks. You stopped one more in front of the mirror. Your mother’s words always did find a way of seeping back into your skin like poison. Even if you had looked “nice” a nagging voice deep down echoed: “you’ve only ever been less than auspicious. Why don’t you ever change that?” 

“Screw your mother.” Hyunjin had said. 

If it only was that easy. 

Your footsteps clomped down the stairs, and you threw on the same pair of kitten heels. 

“Shit. The gift.” You slapped your forehead, cursing your horrid memory. 

“And don’t forget to bring his mother something. A gift. Something small but thoughtful. Something that she can use. Mothers eat shit up like that.” 

You frantically searched your entire home for something that resembled a gift. After a few moments of searching, you had resolved to go without it--you’d explain that it was in the mail, or misplaced, or anything but the fact that you didn’t have one. You grabbed your humorous amount of keychains on your keys, eyes catching that little box of complimentary chocolates from the bridal shower.  

“Good enough.” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

One more time, you checked your reflection in the glass door leading to Minho’s mother’s townhouse. 

“This is fine, you can do this. Don’t screw this up, you’re fine, you’re fine.” 

Minho opened the door, looking as confusingly adorable and downright gorgeous as you had grown to know him as. This time, he had ditched the cardigan for a sky blue sweater that still pooled at his palms. Seeing how casually he had dressed, you instantly felt overdressed, and made a mental reminder to cuss out Hyunjin when you got the chance later. 

“Come in,” He gently ushered you to the spot where you switched on shoes for slippers.

“You-um, look really nice.” Minho pushed up his glasses up his nose bridge, “Really pretty.” 

“Th-thank you, um, you too.” 

He snickered, “No one has called me pretty before.” 

“Shit, Sorry, that was weird, sorry, I’m just kinda...nervous.” 

“No, not at all, I don’t mind. I appreciate the compliment.” 

You stood at the doorway, awkward silence permeating the air. Suddenly, you remembered the chocolates in your hands. 

“Oh, this is for you and your mother, I thought I might as well bring something over...” 

Minho took it from you, and you prayed that he wouldn’t think too much of the packaging that just looked a little too wedding-y. 

“Thank you for this.” He popped the box open excitedly, “What kind are they?” 

It took a couple seconds, but you watched in horror as his expression turned from thrilled to deeply confused. 

“What is it?” You craned your neck over to see.

“Are they...supposed to look like that?” 

Inside of the little plastic compartments, each of the chocolates had melted into blobs pathetically and swirled together making one huge, brown, melted--and then solidified again--chocolate mess. 

“Oh my god.” Your throat felt as tight as a knot in your embarrassment. “They’ve...” 

Minho hurriedly closed the box. “It’s okay! Don’t worry about it.” He tried the best he could to suppress his laughter. “It’s still about the same.” 

“No it’s not.” You whined out the words. “Don’t let your mother can’t see them, oh shit, oh shit.” 

“What happened to them?” 

Your horrid memory suddenly let you remember the fact that those chocolates had stayed in the car after the bridal shower when you had gone to visit your mother’s home. 

“Nothing good, just-hide them--” 

“Minho? Is that Y/n? Is she here?”

“--Hide it, quick!!!” 

Minho shoved the box behind a large houseplant, still hiding his laughter caught in his throat. 

“Ahhh Y/n! It’s so good to meet you at last! I’ve heard so much about you!” 

You greeted Minho’s mother with a bow, throwing the box of chocolates a disdainful glare. She was a gentle looking woman who appeared to be a little older than your own, or,  perhaps the same age. You wouldn’t be surprised if your mother had paid enough to procure the elixir of life; sounds like something she would have done. 

“I’m so happy to meet you as well. Thank you for inviting me in.” 

“Minho!!” His mother nudged his arm, “You didn’t tell me how pretty she was.” 

Your cheeks flushed with heat when you gave another little bow in thanks. “Your home is really lovely too.” 

“Oh, it was all Minho’s idea, I’m just the one that did the cooking. I’m always happy to cook for a neighbor.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I’ve got a couple more things to prepare, Minho, you go show her the cats, I’m sure that she’d like that--I hear that you have a cat too?” 

You nodded. “Are you sure that you don’t need any help?” 

“No no, you both go on, I’ll handle this.” 

By each passing moment, this all started to feel a bit more like a playdate than an official meeting of one’s mother. Here you were, a grown woman, and you had gone over to someone’s house to play with their cats. Maybe you weren’t as much of a grown woman as you thought you were. 

“Over here.” Minho guided you to the living room: it was a modest one with furniture that looked to be very old, with beautiful traditional pictures of landscapes with assorted baby photos hanging on the walls. Everywhere, there was little pieces of evidence of the residence of cats: cat toys, scratching pads, a couple cat carriers and the cat tree nearest the window. At the top tier of the structure, there was a white and orange cat lazing with a foot slung over the side. 

“Doongie?” You carefully approached the furball to pet it’s tiny paw. 

“That one is Soonie, I have two cats that look a bit similar. Doongie is probably somewhere strange. You never know cats. Mine really like hopping on top of the china cabinet; it scares my mother half to death” 

“I can imagine.” 

Soonie remained unbothered, little cat body peacefully sleeping. 

“Over here is Dori, the youngest one.” 

Dori was a bit striped, with a grey body and a white belly. The smaller cat was rolled up into a perfect cinnamon roll on the loveseat. The cat stirred hearing it’s name, and keened into Minho’s touch when he scratched its head. You copied the touch, and Dori granted you the same permission. 

“You cats are so sweet...wanna trade?” 

“I...think that I’m good with the cat’s I’ve got. But that is a tempting offer.” 

Making a rather loud appearance was Doongie, who ambled into the room with a series of loud yowls and meows, looking up to both you and Minho with striking yellow eyes.  

“Doongie!” You crouched down to give the cat scratches under it’s chin, making it purr slightly. “Did you miss me? I hope that you’ve been staying out of trouble.” 

Minho’s gentle brown eyes observed your interactions with his cats, simply letting you play around with them as you wished. Every once and a while, you could catch his eyes following you with a contented little grin on his face.

There was something so domestic and comforting about the whole scene. Inside the townhouse that felt well loved and with the smell of a homecooked meal in the air, there was something so peaceful about it all that was a little foreign to you. 

“Minho! Please come help me with the bowls!” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎ 

Crickets chirped along the pathway and into the spring’s chilly nighttime air. Minho had offered to walk you home, even though you were just two houses down. Because of this, it seemed as if the two of you were walking in slow motion, taking one step after the other as slowly and carefully as you could. Absentmindedly, you both wanted just a little more time. 

After spending the night being on your best behavior, you felt as if you could finally breathe. Granted, you had grandly spilled soup all over Minho’s mother, but this seemed to diffuse quickly once she had laughed raucously at the event. She was a sweet woman, with a kind soul, much like Minho. Her lightly wrinkled face shone like the sun and made you feel loved even without knowing her much. 

In many ways, you wondered what it would be like having a mother as such. It was likely however, maybe you just weren’t supposed to know. 

Minho cast his gaze up to the sprinkling of stars spread out over the vast sky: most of them invisible due to the closeness to the city. 

“You know, I’m starting to really like living out here, in the suburbs I mean. Everything in the city was so fast and chaotic, it’s nice to sit back and let things be still for a while.” 

“You don’t miss it?” 

“Not as much as I did. The city...holds a lot of memories for me; some of them I’d rather forget. Being out here feels like a new start.” 

The two of you stopped near the light coming from your porch. In the soft glow of yellow, coupled with the gentle navy blue tint of the night, Minho looked ethereal--perhaps even a little fairy-like. 

You cursed out your writer brain for thinking of your little made up world at a time like this when you had this boy, real, in front of you. 

“I had a nice time with you tonight.” Minho shoved his hands into his pants pockets with a cute little smirk. “I think my cats are a fan of you as well, so, that puts a good word in for you in my book.” 

“Me too. Thank-thank you for inviting me.” 

“Next time, we should do something different, I heard actually that there’s a meteor shower in a couple weeks.” 

“Wait, next time?” 

“Or, we could do something sooner if you’d like.” 

“You want to do something else? With me?” 

“Yes you, who else would I be talking about?” Minho capped his sentence with a little snicker. 

“S-sorry, I just...don’t understand...why would you... I mean, I don’t do too much besides kinda hide in my house with my cat...there isn’t really a lot of things interesting about--” 

Minho squatted down, sweeping something off of the sidewalk. It wasn’t until he had put it in your hair that you had realized he had taken one of the cherry blossoms from your tree to tuck it behind your ear. His head titled slightly as he admired the decoration, fingers lingering by the side of your cheek for a moment. 

“I disagree.” He hushed, barely saying the words louder than a whisper. “Even though you you tent to get yourself into...situations--not that I mind anyway, you are special. Hell, and I haven’t even known you that long. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.” 

Had it been socially acceptable, you would’ve kissed him right then and there. 

If only it were that easy. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Chapter 25 

There Blaze was, standing, simple, cuts on his face and that little scar on his eyebrow twitching. The campfire illuminated his eyes with the flames, creating that brazen fire that he had gotten his name from. 

Bomi knew him well. In fact, she thought she had known him better than most--a fact which she selfishly kept to herself. Blaze was everything she had known for the past year or so, and the time had interwoven their paths in ways that she had never expected. Before her was a person who knew her too, perhaps better than she knew herself. 

Blaze’s callused hand rose to cup her cheek, thumb rubbing over her own battle scars. 

“If you’ll not have me, please know Princess, you are the strongest warrior, bravest leader, and wisest friend that I have had the pleasure of knowing. I’ll stay by your side until I breathe my last breath.” 

With a shaking hand, Bomi took Blaze’s hand resting on her cheek. She memorized the way that his skin felt on hers, making a million silent wishes that she knew would never come true. 

“You and I, we both know that fate would have other plans for us...I’m sorry.” 

Bomi turned from the warmth of the campfire, and the way that his eyes held hers. 

She wished a million wishes, and he was nearly every one one of them. 

[coralsweep]

fic rec list nobody asked for 1/5

I applied a bunch of filters on my bookmarks on AO3 and picked some out. There’s a few different fandoms on here, and the next fic rec lists will have different fandoms as well, because I’ve read for so many lol. I haven’t included all the tags or anything, though, so please read those and take care :)

BNHA

putting in the hard work now by pvwork - 500 words, Midoriya Body Horror

Your body is at once a prison and a spaceship. It'll take you far, but you can't ever leave.

of weight by Anonymous - 300 words, Midoriya-centric

You think about giving up, sometimes.

always by valdera - 1.1k, Bakugo & Midoriya

Destiny is a piece of shit, Bakugou reminds himself, and so is Deku. Neither of those will get the better of him.

(a study on bakugou katsuki, destiny, deku, and everything that connects the three)

Little Matron by mochacreams - 1k, Momo Character Study

Momo remembers the first time she tried making a matryoshka doll. She remembers the chipping paint and oblong body shape and cracked bottoms. She laughs, looking back, at the ones she’d created without faces and the others that had no heads at all. Practice makes perfect.

Show & Tell by babbeige - 700 words, Hawks Character Study

he's the toy being shown and told, undesirable parts of him hidden and hushed, because the audience wasn't there for his dirty secrets and sad truths. they're there for the golden, the heavy cast of liquid perfection covering his sunspots, jagged scars and sinking into his wounds. bleeding into his blood stream, and turning him golden and pretty inside out.

hes good at following orders, at playing the golden boy trapped in his perfect golden cage. the golden boy craving freedom and needing someone to break open his prison.

but the reality is, the cage door is wide open, gold bars spread far enough for him to slip out, and yet he's staying in his cage like a stupidly loyal pet.

my god, i’m so lonely by Kaleid369 - 2.5k, Hagakure Character Study 

Tōru is four years old when her Quirk first manifests. It happens slowly, gradually, and she doesn’t notice until it’s too late.

It starts with her hands.

Hagakure Tōru grows up far too fast.

Graves of the Firefly by Yomi_is_tired - 190 words, poetry

hope has died to-day.

raise your hand to catch the sunlight (clench your fist around the dark) by livtontea - 1.9k, poetry on various characters

A collection of my bnha poems because,, i got back into it lmao

the cities like shimmering novas by Heronfem - 1.9k, Hawks & Amajiki 

Suneater and Hawks have an unexpected discussion overlooking Doutonbori canal, making Tamaki reflect on just what kind of hero he wants to be.

like stars into existence by shantealeaves - 4.2k, Momo & Mei

“Is she good?”

Tenya stared at her for a moment. “She’s the best,” he finally said—and it was clear his silence came not from second-guessing the recommendation, but from not understanding how she could ever doubt it.

Pro Heroes Yaoyorozu Momo and Hatsume Mei form an unexpected partnership. Written for the Big Damn Heroes Zine.

Noragami

apotheosis by celestial_nova - 860 words, Hiyori-centric

when zeus gazed upon semele, she burst into flames; for what more is a human, in the face of a god, than predestined ash?

The Half-Life of Recovery by rabbitprint - 7.3k, Takemikazuchi & Kiun

Spoilers for vol. 17, Takemikazuchi backstory. Pre-series.

Even though Takemikazuchi's surviving shinki have not been memorialized by gravestones, they are just as much his victims -- and neither side can forget.

what is reflected by ali_summerset - 1.2k, Kazuma Character Study

"He doesn’t know what to make of Iki Hiyori at first."

Kazuma contemplates his similarities with the half-ayakashi human girl.

oh nostalgia, i don't need you anymore by swanfrost - 5k, Yato Character Study

yato’s shinki always have the tragic habit of quitting on him. and like a coward, he lets them go.

“that’s just proper etiquette,” kofuku says, nodding in approval at yato’s apparent respectability. but every time yato has to face a slobbering ayakashi empty handed, every time he instinctively reaches to call for a name he doesn’t have the right to say anymore —

yato wonders how long it will take for him to become forgotten.

yato, yukine, and the question: what is the duty a god has to his shinki?

DRRR!!

Cuardaigh by odette (thimble) - 700 words, Graphic Depictions of Violence. 

You know that the sky is blue, the grass is green, and blood is as red as you are a Dullahan. You ride on a steed blacker than night, your purpose is hidden, somewhere, in your immortal bones, and for the first time you fear everything and revere nothing.

Your name is Celty Sturluson.

But that is all you know.

[kitty0boy]

You know the drill. Marichat time with a dash of Adrienette. It is Adrienette April after all, I’ve gotta do a little something. Mari is 17 Adrien is 18, I’ll use “...” to show changes in perspectives as per usual.

——————————

Adrien thought it would be a calm Tuesday, nothing special would happen. He’d somewhat memorized Hawkmoth’s schedule and learned that he didn’t usually release akumas on Tuesdays. For what reason? Nobody knows. Maybe he needs breaks from all of his crushing defeats. I mean seriously, how old is this guy? Can’t even defeat two teenagers and he’s been trying for what, almost three years now?

He let his mind wander during the ride to school. Even though he could legally drive now, his bodyguard still had to make sure he made it to school safe. At this point, he’d rather the Gorilla adopt him, he made a much better father than his own already. Even if he is paid to do it. No one was waiting for him at the front when he arrived, which was refreshing. There were usually swarms of fangirls waiting to escort him inside, especially after one of his photo shoots. They had become much more, revealing lately. What with him being and adult now. Which was difficult seeing as how he still had to go to school with teenagers that would tear him to shreds for an autograph. Unfortunately though, Nino wasn’t even at the front.

He stepped out. On his right he saw a group of girls wearing shirts with his face or his name on it, and in front stood a cute petite woman wearing a black skirt and a pastel green t-shirt. She was very angry, pointing at them, apparently telling them off. The other girls looked back and forth at each other before they spotted him. They nearly trampled Marinette as they made their way over. “Oh please Adrien, can I have your autograph?” One of them practically shoved a notebook up his nose, “Can you sign my shirt?” One of them said, turning around. A bright flash blinded him as one of the girls took a photo. He felt a hand on his shirt as one of them tried to take it off. “Umm,” he backed away, uncomfortable “sorry but I have class.” He managed to push through them and walked up to Marinette. “Hey, can I walk to class with you?” He nearly pleaded, he didn’t want to be left alone with them if he could help it, usually Nino ushered him inside but he wasn’t here for some reason. “Sure, I was about to ask you anyways, those girls were about to rip you apart.” He rubbed his neck.

He was glad Marinette was more comfortable around him now. Sure she didn’t always stammer in front of him when they were younger but she never seemed fully comfortable to be with him either. She seemed comfortable now though, looping her arm through his as they walked into the school. “So I’m going to assume you made this yourself?” She nodded in response. “The paw prints took furever to sew on too.” He giggled, “Clever, and where are these pawpurrints” he punned back. She pinched the hem of the skirt to show him, his eyes went wide for a minute. “Oh calm down I’m wearing shorts underneath.” He sighed in relief and squinted at the prints. Sure enough there were tiny paws sewn around the hem, almost as if a kitten stepped in green paint and walked around her skirt. “Wow, you’re stitching is purrfect.” She laughed, “Thank you, it’s taken years of purractice. I’m sure you could do it too.” “No way, I couldn’t pawsibly match the purrfection that is Marinette’s craftsmewnship.” The pairs laughed as they entered the classroom, their friends were huddled in a group, caught up in a friendly debate.

“Oh hey Mari, Adrien.” He waved, “What are we talking about?” Alya crossed her arms, “Well I think Mr. Superhero has moved on from his bugaboo but some of us aren’t convinced.” He could confirm Alya’s theory, he had moved on from Ladybug. In fact the person he moved onto had just walked him to class, but she couldn’t know that yet. Not until Hawkmoth’s defeat anyways, he didn’t want to hurt Marinette like he hurt Kagami. Alix sat in the back of the class with her feet propped up on the desk, as sucker in her mouth as usual. She smiled coyly at him. Ladybug had given her the rabbit miraculous already which gave her insight to everything in his life. Possibly Ladybug’s life too. “There’s no way he’s moved on,” was Rose rebuttal, “He still flirts with her, he’s clearly still in love.” Was he flirting with Ladybug? He though he was just being friendly, he’d toned it down a lot at least. Marinette snorted, “Oh come on Rose he flirts with everyone.” Alya quirked her head “Girl what are you talking about? No he doesn’t.” Marinette crossed her arms, “Oh yes he does. The first time Nathaniel was akumatized, Ladybug had me go on a date with him to trap him.” Nathaniel blushed, “And Chat Noir came by to tell me the plan. You wanna know what he did?” Marinette put on her best smirk and turned to Alya, “Hey I haven’t even introduced myself,” she mimicked, grabbing Alya’s hand and getting on one knee, “I’m Chat Noir.” She kissed the back of the bloggers hand and stood up. “And then he started flexing and saying things like ‘don’t worry you’ll be save with me.’ And when I asked about Ladybug he said ‘she’s busy with something tonight so, you get to be my Ladybug.’ Honestly he’s a flirty as they get.” She concluded and crossed her arms. The girls just stared at her in shock. His chest felt hot and he quickly rubbed the back of his neck as if it would cool him down. How did she even remember that?

“Marinette I have met Chat Noir on multiple occasions and he’s never flirted with me like that.” Marinette turned her head to the side adorably. “But what about when you were Rena Rouge? I saw him getting real chummy when your sisters were the Sapotis.” Alya grinned, “I think that was more to make his lovebug jealous. Well, ex-lovebug because we’ve clearly found out who has the cat in the bag.” Marinette waved her arms in front of her, “Hang on now, this happened years ago. Who says he has a crush on me?” Alix snorted and everyone stared, she hand her phone in her hand and was starring at it, clever little cover up. Juleka raised her hand, muttering “Actually he was on your balcony last night.” The class gasped and Alix stifled a laugh. Adrien tried really hard to remain neutral, which was really difficult seeing Marinette’s pink face. “He just stopped by because he was bored, I’m sure he stops by lots of people’s houses.” Everyone else shook their heads, Chloe decided to speak up. “Well he stops by the hotel to get milk but he doesn’t speak to me.” Then Lila stalked up to the front, “Well actually I know who Chat Noir fancies now, and it’s certainly not Marinette.” Adrien stood, “Oh really now?” He challenged crossing his arms. “Yes it’s quite embarrassing but it’s actually me.” The class gasped but Marinette laughed. “Ok now that’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one. Chat Noir doesn’t even like you.” Rose turned to Marinette, “Now that’s quite rude, I’m sure Chat Noir doesn’t dislike anyone.” Marinette raised her hands in surrender, “Ok sure but he doesn’t fancy her either.” Adrien was glad Marinette was on his side rather than believing her. Since Lila had joined the Agreste foundation, he’s had to do very uncomfortable photo shoots with her. And with summer right around the corner, bathing suits would be in soon and he wished for time to slow down. Lila had already been way to touchy with him, now picture that but basically naked. Not his idea of a dream come true to say the least.

“Well then,” Alya crossed her arms and hip bumped Marinette “we’ll just have to assume he’s in love with you then.” Marinette’s face turned a deep red which made Alya smirk “And it seems the feeling is mutual.” Marinette hid her blushing face before a Giant and very familiar hand picked her up and carried her out of the school. “August!” She screamed in surprise. While the class was distracted Adrien snuck out and transformed in the hallway before leaping over their heads and onto the roof. Thankfully, preschooler August was much easier to speak with than toddler August. “Pretty doll.” He said, starring at Marinette.

Chat flicked his bell to get Gigantitan’s attention, “You’re right, very pretty.” He winked at her before turning back to August, “But she’s not yours, is she? We shouldn’t take things that aren’t ours.” August bent down to Chat Noir’s face, “She’s not yours either, finders keepers.” He smirked, “Hey now, we never said she wasn’t mine. But either way there is a big difference between dolls and humans. So put her down and we can talk about this like big boys.” August contemplated for a second. Chat Noir had learned from his last battle with him that August was a big boy now, a lesson he learned the hard way.

Coming to a decision, August stood up straight, and dropped Marinette. “No!” He sprinted off the rooftop and dove after Marinette. She reached for him and he grabbed her, pulling her flushed to him and spinning mid air as he collided with the sidewalk. Marinette sat up, completely unaware of their very compromising position. He propped himself up on his elbows and turned his attention to August “Oi! Big boys don’t drop pretty girls August.” Marinette laughed and butterflies fluttered around his stomach. “Well this pretty girl thanks you for the save kitty.” She flicked his bell and smiled at him. August made an other swipe at Marinette and Chat rolled them over into another compromising position, praising the fact that Marinette had worn shirts today. Marinette blushed up at him before he dug an arm under her back and stood with her. “What do you say to a game of keep away?” She smirked, “I say game on kitty.”

After defeating August and returning him to his school, Chat brought Marinette back to their school. Their whole class whooped and cheered and whistles at the pair. Alya approached clapping slowly as he slid down his staff with an arm wrapped around Marinette’s waist. “Well would you look at that. Someone is smitten.” He pretended to be confused. “What are we talking about now?” Nino walked up and looped his arm around Chat’s shoulders. “Oh just the fact that you and Marinette seem awfully, what was the word you used earlier Marinette? Chummy.” He continued to play dumb, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re stalking about civilian.” Alix, who was much taller than Marinette now, strode over and took Marinette’s hand. “Come here a second.” She lead Marinette to the center of the group, in front of him. He gave her a look that said ‘Alix I’m going to kill you.’ She smirked back and lifted their hands above Marinette’s head, spinning her around. Her skirt flew in all directions and her lose hair glided gently in the breeze. Alix smirked at him, “There’s your proof. Absolutely captivated.” He was so going to get back at her on patrol later. He made a pact to stop dating until Hawkmoth’s defeat and for the past few months, she was absolutely no help. He laughed it off, “Well like I said, she’s a pretty girl, especially in my colours.” He grinned at her blushing face.

“As lovely as this Chat was I’ve got places to go, things to see. I bid you all fair well.” He turned and started walking away but he didn’t get far before a hand grabbed his bell, spun him around, and kissed him. He pulled back in disgust as Lila grinned up at him. “I did miss you last night kitten.” She cooed, and poked him in the chest. A very angry Marinette made her way over to them with a water bottle. She shoved Lila away held it out to him “Rinse.” She instructed and he did, taking a big swig of water and swallowing. Then Marinette wrapped her arms around his neck and, standing on her toes, kissed him.

That was much better. You know what? Screw the pact, he closed his eyes and let the butterflies in his stomach emerge and fly around them. It was almost like they were in a world of their own. He smiled against her and lifted her so he could smile up at her. Each kiss sent a bolt of lightning through him and the cheers of their classmates just barely reached his ears. An angry Lila tried to run away but Juleka and Rose stopped her and started lecturing her about consent. He wanted to spend a lifetime just like this. With her legs and arms wrapped around him, the world was peaceful. There was no Hawkmoth, no Lila, no danger.

She pulled back and smiled at him, “Purromise that won’t happen again.” He grinned, “Believe me purrincess, I don’t want to kiss anyone but you.” He spun her around before putting her down and giving her a quick kiss goodbye. “See you tonight?” She asked, he nearly combusted on the spot. “That is a very dangerous questions my dear.” She smirked “Do I seem like the type to run from danger?” He laughed, this girl was going to be the death of him. “No you almost certainly aren’t.” In an attempt to make her blush as much as he was, he bent down and kissed her exposed collar bone. “I will see you tonight then.” Before she could tease him back, he leapt away.

Adrien emerged from the restroom and the second Alix spotted him she grinned and approached. “Broke the pact I see, how’s that kiss?” He smiled, “Worth it.” She laughed at him. “It’s about time too, you do realized she’s had a crush on you for ages right?” “Oh I knew that, one time she confessed to me and I had to go over to her house for breakfast with her parents, that was awkward. I was still in love with Ladybug you know?” Alix stared at him, “Hang on was this as Adrien or Chat?” He looked at her confused. “Chat, who else?” She laughed at him, “Must have been a fleeting attempt to get over a Mr. Adrien Agreste.” His eyes widened, “Wait she had a crush on Adrien, me?” She nodded, “It stopped about a year ago, seems she moved on to, well, you.” He smacked a hand to his forehead, “Mon dieu, I could have dated her in civilian form all this time?” Alix grabbed a sucker from her pocket and handed it to him. “Don’t worry model boy, once we defeat Hawkmoth you can snog her to your hearts content as yourself.” He popped the sucker into his mouth. “You know, August loves these things.” He said crumpling the wrapper in his pocket. “Oh really? I’ll be sure to give one to the pretty lady next time he gets akumatized.” He really hoped there wouldn’t be a next time, for his heart’s sake.

———————————

That’s all for this fic, thanks for reading!

[marsmoonqueen]

I would die for and with you

WinterSoldier!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: Bucky being mean in the beginning, and I think thats all.

Prompt / Summary: Red helps Winter discover who he really is.

Note: It starts a little angsty.  Also, this is the third part of “Red” and “ I could take you anywhere you want”. But you dont have to read those to understand this one.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Her scream was the first thing he heard as he entered the apartment. He ignored her, hoping she would drop the matter. “Oh, no. Oh, sir no!” She said as ran from her spot, in the sofa, to him, taking his metal arm with both hands. “You cannot do this! You can’t walk away in the middle of the night, not comeback for an entire day until morning and then ignore me!” With an abrupt but calculated move, he shacked his arm from her grip.

         The young man who had rescued her months before looked at her, dead in the eye, and went straight to her room. Initially, he slept in the guest’s room but given the fact that he had nightmares every night and she helped him come back to real life, they had started to sleep together some weeks ago.

         “Winter don’t do this to me man! Open the door!” She yelled when she realized he has locked it. “Look, I know our research has not gone the way we wanted but-”

         “Go away (y/n), this is not about that” He didn’t need to yell to make a statement.

         “(y/n)? So, I am not Red anymore?” Not a word. “I am asking you nothing more than to tell me when you go out! You can’t just walk out, research purposes or not, and expect me not to be worried”

         “Why do you care?” His voice sounded rougher this time.

         “Why-? Why do I care? Why do I care?!” (y/n) screamed indignant. “Because you are my bloody friend! That’s what friend do, we worry and care for each other! You would feel the same if I did what you do… you would care if I was gone” The young woman didn’t yell her last sentence, suddenly too tired, maybe it was acknowledging the fact that she cared what drained her in the moment; instead, she let herself slip off to the floor, her back touching the door.

         “No” His response came after a minute of silence.

         “No what?” She had her head between her arms, that were resting on her knees.

         “I wouldn’t”

         “You wouldn’t what boy? Speak clearly” (y/n) asked, now irritated, resting her head against the door.

         In a swift move the door was open, and with her back in the floor she saw those blue eyes she liked above her. “I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t care if you were gone”. She didn’t know how to react. Her heart stopped. Dead silence in the room. She sat on the floor and crawled close to her room’s exit.

         “That’s not true” She whispered, again.

         “Yes, it is, now… be gone” And with that last words Winter, her friend, closed the door in her face, and locked it again.

         “Very well…”

After her last words (y/n), confused and heartbroken, took her backpack, a bottle of water and left the building. She decided that a walk was what she needed, but to where… she didn’t know.

         Her feet took her to the nearest park, first. She spent good four hours thinking, watching her shoes, the kids, the animals, anything. But everything reminded her of him, and the probability of him not being there when she came back home. In the park, she noticed a kind of parade, it was a commemoration to every war that was fought in the planet.

        War.

        She was on a war with herself at the moment, how accurate. To pass the time, she decided to investigate. Different countries, different wars, different motives. Independence, revolution… everything seemed the same for her at that moment though.

        (y/n) was about to go to a café or something when she heard a group of girls gush about something.

        “Oh, good lord! He was super handsome!” One of them said, holding a pamphlet against her chest. Her and her friends were in front of a large column that had ‘world war II’ in red, and below it ‘USA heroes’, there were other columns of the same war but with the different countries´ ‘heroes’.

        At one of her history classes, (y/n) had hear that there was a WW2 soldier that looked vaguely like Harry Styles, so following her curiosity, she decided to investigate. She went from Germany to Mexico, looking for her favorite singer’s doppelgänges. Sadly, she found nothing of the sort. But after two hours and a half, she came to stand in front of the column where the girls were before, and hoping they were gushing about someone with green eyes and curly hair, she gave a look to the column.

        Soon, she found the man the girls were blushing about, and went speechless. There, in front of her, were the answers of all her questions, of all Winter’s questions. In front of her, was a picture of a young handsome sergeant, with beautiful blue eyes, short brown hair and a boyish grin.

        “He was a handsome one, wasn’t he?” An old lady surprised her. (y/n) turner to her. She looked like a teacher, and had a pretty green dress and a lovely smile.

        “Yeah, very handsome” She said, but the old lady’s eyes weren’t on her any longer.

        “A great man, also. He lived and died for his best friend; you know?”

        “No, not really, I am not familiarized with his story” (y/n) kept her eyes on her.

        “Oh really?” She gazed at her with disappointment “Quite a popular this one, at least in the states; by the look in your eyes I would have thought that you knew his story”

        “Why? Why is he so famous I mean?” Instead of answering her question, the old woman pointed with her jaw at some pamphlet on a table. “Thank you” (y/n)’s voice was a little painted with sarcasm. On the table were a lot of pamphlets from the different soldiers, but guided by his eyes (y/n) found his easily.

        “The kids did a great job with his and captain’s research” The woman said, giving a last look to the column and walking away.

        “Captain’s? What captain?” But the old lady got closer to a bunch of college kids and started talking with them.

 (y/n) wasted no more time and started to read every single detail of the paper, it was long, but after finishing it, she realized that the captain’s, was probably longer. There was an excitement around her, and she laughed sterically. All the answers she was looking for were there, in front of her.

         “Winter” she whispered and looked to the sky. It was late, pretty, pretty late, so she did the first rational thing that came in mind. She ran.

         She ran to her apartment excited to share her discoveries with her friend. She passed trees, dogs, nearly crashed into people; she heard the sky roar, a storm was coming, but she couldn’t seem to care. She had to catch him. She was praying that he was there, still there.

        At this point it didn’t matter that he didn’t want to see her. It didn’t matter if he was gone after that. What mattered was the information she had about him. He had to know, he deserved to know. Twenty minutes later, she saw her building, many of her neighbors’ lights were off. But her flat’s wasn’t. They were all on, and there was a figure standing in the window, looking for something. Looking for her. She ran faster as the rain started to pour on her.

        The receptionist gave her the dirtiest glare when he saw her running in his halls, but she didn’t care, she took the stair to the 4th floor, and nearly tacked her door. Inside, Winter was ready to jump at whoever came in with such force, but she was quicker and ran to him, crashing with the sofa in her way.

         Winter’s arms cached her, before she could hit the floor.

         “Red! Are you alright? Is someone following you?” He asked, worried. (y/n) contemplated him for a second. He had a black tank top and lose joggers, his hair fell around his face; there were scars in his right arm and his left was metal, but without a doubt he was the man from that photo. “Hey, hey, what is it doll? You are freezing” He whispered, moving her hair from her face, and tucking her closer to him in a try to keep her warm.

         “I know who you are… James” she whispered, their foreheads touching.

         “What?” His voice came out broken.

         “Look at this young man… does he look familiar to you?” (y/n) took the paper out of her pants pocket and gave it to him. James’ eyes filled with tears.

         “James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes… Bucky, Bucky!” His eyes lighted up “That’s how that man called me! The blonde! Bucky!” James was excited

         “That should be Steve Rogers, Captain America” (y/n)’s excitement matched his. They looked at each other and laughed loud, and after a few seconds, Bucky made their foreheads touch again. Bucky’s smile fell.

         “I’m sorry about this afternoon Red, I-” (y/n) interrupted him.

         “Don’t worry, I know how your nightmares make you behave sometimes” Bucky blushed, ashamed. “I won’t say I told you, but I would like to hear you say it…Bucky”

         “Say what? That I would worry?” Bucky asked unsure, his friend nodded embarrassed; he took her face between his hands “I worried today when after a while I came out of our room and you weren’t here; I worried because I thought you wouldn’t come back; and when I saw you running as if your life depended on it, I worried even more, because I care about you, because you are my fucking best friend and I would die for and with you”. He said they were friends, but their lips were touching.

         (y/n) swallowed, and looking at him in the eye said: “You are my bloody best friend and I would die for and with you”. Bucky smiled and hugged his friend, and they stayed like that, wet an all, until the sun shined through their window.

@jessyballet​

[jojoboisimagines]

Johnny Joestar x Reader :: Wait for It :: Chapter 4

Previous chapter        Next chapter

Summary: Gyro is hospitalized, and now Johnny has no one to turn to. That is, until a former female rider shows him a little compassion.

A/N: A considerably more fluffy chapter this time around, mostly because I realized it was getting a little too long lol

.::.

A blue painted fingernail clicked the stopwatch as your horse came to a slow, sloppy halt.

“Stop.”

Your head was spinning in a daze and you tried to regain your composure to get off your horse. Wobbling a bit as you stumbled towards the ex-jockey, he felt as if you were trying to give him a reason to shake his head. His hand ushered towards your torso to attempt keeping you steady, but Johnny couldn’t do much from his chair.

“You were too late on that one, not to mention that stop was pretty rough. Once you get a better handle of things in general, you should improve. But you can’t be lookin’ so unsure like that.”

“Huh?” Was all you could murmur as you held an icepack to your forehead to soothe the momentary nausea. After taking a couple notes in his notepad, he sets it onto a wooden stump beside him before turning to you. You were prepared for an intense critique, just like the last three times you had taken a lap. The two of you had found a circular clearing near the hotel from last night, complete with a marble, expensive looking fountain in the middle. It was perfect, just wide enough for you to practice horse riding with. As long as no one angrily marched out of their store complaining about the ruckus, anyway. 

You were used to waking up early, so the time didn’t bother you. On the contrary, it was Johnny that surprised you at his sluggish manner of waking up. To be fair, the poor guy probably hadn’t had the chance to sleep in for weeks on end. He languidly sat on the edge of his bed for about 13 minutes while you were already getting ready. 

Attempting conversation with him, you discovered that the Italian man he was traveling with had somehow taken a gravely dangerous hit and was currently hospitalized. You were sure he was a goner, despite the slight hope the ex-jockey seemed to have that he was alright for now. That was the most light you had seen in his eyes since you first laid eyes on him in this race. Maybe it was that guy that was the reason Johnny was in the lead so often. Not like it mattered, anyway.  The method of how he got there means nothing to you, its how you yourself can catch up is what has you interested. Though you knew him staying behind for his partner would set him back in the race a few days. 

You blinked, trying to process what he had told you to improve on. It racked your brain as your turned your back to him and contemplated how exactly you would translate what’s planted in your mind to your actions when riding your steed. It was so frustrating, you knew what you wanted to do, and yet it seemed like your body betrayed you when attempting to do so. It definitely wasn’t your horse, she was in perfect shape, it was you.

“(Y/N), watch out!”

It all happened so suddenly, you heard gunshots and strange men on both sides of you had collapsed to the ground, seemingly writhing in agony. You turned around to your trainer, who was now breathing heavily with his fingers pointed out in a gun-like shape. Confused, you had ran back over to him, face expressing concern for both of your well being.

“Johnny! What happened?”

“Those guys just tried to mug you when you were goin’ back to your horse. I got ‘em though.” His hands returned to the handles of his wheelchair, letting out a sigh of relief.

He got them? The hell did that mean? You knew he had a gun, but hadn’t seen him bring it outside. Before you could think any further about it, he grabbed your wrist.

“Let’s get our horses and get out of here (y/n). We don’t want to be the ones seen when the police arrive.” As much as you wanted to object in order to continue your training, he was right. If either of you got accused and thrown in jail, that’d be a bad situation. You nodded, and Johnny rolled over to Slow Dancer while you went and mounted your own horse.

.::.

.

.

You had no idea where Johnny was leading you. All you had seen for the past 20 minutes were the pale green hue of the forest the two of you had escaped into. At first you had assumed he was moving forward for the sake of the race, but quickly realized this was the exact opposite direction the next stage was in based on your map. 

“What’s your horse’s name?” He broke the silence.

You hesitated for a second. Why would he want to know that?

“..Aphrodite.”

“Nice name. She’s a beauty.”

“Your horse’s name is Slow Dancer, right? That’s really pretty too.” Since compliments were being thrown around, it wouldn’t hurt to actually talk to him for once without the malice you've harbored for him being in the way.

“Oh, I didn’t name her. Thanks though.” A blunt response, yet not quite matter-of-factly. 

You didn’t quite know how to respond, but you didn’t need to, as the man moved a pair of branches heavily decorated with leaves out of the way to get a better view of an area that finally contrasted the scene you had been seeing for the last half hour. It was another assemblage of stores and bars right next to each other. Thank god you already had all of your belongings on the back of your horse before the two of you left, otherwise you would have a new reason to be pissed off at him.

“We’ll still have to go back to the other part of the town because my friend is in that hospital, but for now let's take a break and have some lunch.” It was a bit shocking and almost struck you as foolish that he offered to take you to another restaurant after yesterday’s stunt.

“Don’t worry about paying for it, I’ve got you covered.” Well, that solves that.

The two of you get properly seated in the restaurant, with Johnny insisting no one help him with his wheelchair, almost stubbornly so. The walls were coated in patterned red wallpaper, with much better decorations and even utensils than the last one. Perhaps you should’ve made your heist here instead, but there was the chance that they’d have better security. Not to mention, what were the odds you’d find Johnny Joestar of all people in a burger joint? Though that did bring up the question of why he wanted to come specifically here instead of finding a place closer to the hotel.

“You decided burgers weren’t really your thing this time around?” You remark, holding the menu closer to your eyes. The words on this menu were unnecessarily small.

“Nah they are, I just wanted to come to this place again. I had been here before back when I was a jockey and traveled more.”

“Ah..” You bit your lip. It must’ve been a sore subject to talk about for him, so you wouldn’t pester him about it any further. “Why are you treating me to lunch?”

No immediate response from him, it almost looked like he was ignoring you in favor of deciding what he wanted on the menu.  You placed your elbow on the table with your hand pushing against your cheek, your lip jutting out not dissimilar to a sad puppy who was getting enough attention.

“No reason,” He said, not even looking up from the menu. “If you try the same thing as the other day though, I’ll be the one to shoot your ass this time.” Squinting your eyes, you could see a hint of a smirk on his face. Before you could utter ‘try me’, the waitress came to your table to take your orders. It was a quick exchange, and she took your menus and left as soon as she came. Johnny’s eyes were still planted on her as she disappeared into the kitchen. 

“You some kind of creep?” You accused, almost bringing up your memories of seeing the jockey with about a dozen girls on him in his former days, but bit your tongue.

He shook his head. “‘Course not. But I was thinking of how you’d look in that waitress outfit instead.”

Your face threatened to redden against your will. Blinking, it took you a moment to process that.

Was..was he flirting?

“What..would make you think about that?” You spat more than intended. “You’re saying that like you literally didn’t put on someone else’s uniform on little than 24 hours ago.”

He had a point. Your fists still balled up on the table.

“Yeah, I can see it.” He continued. “You’d look like a doll.”

You squint your eyes tight, unable to take his compliments without getting flustered. It was frankly embarrassing just how much of a physical reaction you had to it. And he was just..staring at you. No visible change in his expression. Then again, you could barely see it considering your eyes were shut.

He pointed a finger at you. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not coming onto you or anything. I just call it as I see it.”

You couldn’t even tell if that was meant to be reassuring or not. When you looked up at him, he still kept that nonchalant face, not seeming to get any particular joy or satisfaction from seeing you like this. Tapping his finger on the table, he stared into the air for a second.

“I shouldn’t have let her take my menu, I wanted to know what dessert they have..”

Your jaw nearly dropped. How could he carelessly say something like that and then change the subject?

 This man would kill you sooner or later without even having to shoot..

[arcticfox007]

Hope and Feathers

Destiel December Challenge 2020

Day 8: Blizzard

This is a continuation of days 2-7, the master list is pinned to my profile.

Check it out on AO3 as well!

***

               Charlie was really enjoying herself. The night may have started off as a way of helping her brothers out, but this Christmas event was actually super amazing. She had managed to snag a hand-knit elf hat while Sam asked about custom made dolls of all things. Charlie got Sam a headband with reindeer antlers and insisted that he wear them. She even convinced him to take a selfie with her, although he voiced his concerns about her using the picture for blackmail purposes.

               “Why are you looking for dolls, Sam? What does that have to do with talking to Dean?” Sam smiled mysteriously and wiggled his eyebrows at her.

               “You’ll have to wait and see. You’re so impatient. What’s with the picture taking by the way?”

               “I just thought it’d be nice. I got some sneaky ones of Dean being all adorable with Cas.” Sam laughed.

               “So, you are trying for blackmail, clever.” Charlie rolled her eyes. “Actually, can I see the pictures?”

               “Sure.” Charlie handed her phone over to Sam. He took a few moments to look through them with a grin growing across his face.

               “Do you mind if I send some of these to myself?”

               “Go ahead.” Sam thanked her and spent a few moments emailing himself some of the photos.

               “If you get anymore tonight, can you send them as well? Dean’s working on a gift for Cas, and I think I can add on to it a bit.” Charlie nodded her agreement.

               “No prob. What are you up to, a photo album or something?” Sam shrugged.

               “Not really, I’m going to frame some of them. I’m not sure I have enough for an album, we don’t stop and take pictures all that often,” Sam gave Charlie half of a smile and then spotted something in the distance. “Hey, I think that’s the booth I’m looking for.”

               Charlie wandered around the custom doll booth for a bit while Sam got into a deep discussion with the artist running the place. It took long enough that she’d started playing on her phone by the time Sam walked back over.

               “Well, that cost way more than I was originally intending to spend on Dean, and she won’t have it ready until tomorrow night, but I think it’ll be worth it.” Sam honestly looks excited just for himself, so Charlie just punches his arm and grins.

               “You better find somewhere for everyone to spend the night then. Check out the forecast.” Sam’s eyes widen in mild surprise as he sees the weather app on Charlie’s screen.

               “Wow, yeah, I don’t think we want to be driving in that. Especially since the Impala isn’t exactly the best car for snow. An actual blizzard, huh?”

               “Yeah, it may still miss this area but we might as well see where we can snag a few rooms. There’s some sort of 1800s B&B within walking distance. After that we can go meet Santa Claus!” Charlie clapped her hands with glee and started bounding off to wherever this inn was supposed to be as Sam followed her with a bemused expression.

***

               “Dean. There is one over here.” Dean walked over to Cas while dodging some of the crystals hanging from the ceiling in the New Age-y shop one of the kids they’d passed had tipped them off about. Cas had stopped trying to restrain his smile, he was enjoying how much fun Dean seemed to be having playing this silly game.

               “Awesome! You’re pretty good at this angel spotting thing.” Dean smirked and winked at the actual angel in the store.

               “Yes,” Cas said dryly. “It does seem to be some sort of innate skill on my part.” Dean chuckled and makes sure Castiel records the newest scavenger hunt angel on his list.

               “We only have one more on the list. Where haven’t we gone yet?” Castiel lifts an eyebrow as Dean pours over the small map of the historic city he’d found in the event booklet.

               “We haven’t gone to get coffee yet. I believe someone mentioned coffee to me before starting this endeavor but we’ve been walking around for an hour, and I still have yet to see any.” Dean rolled his eyes.

               “Wow, Cas. I will say the one human trait that’s given you very little problems is sarcasm.” Cas just continued to look at Dean expectantly. “Alright, alright, lets go get you coffee, angel.”

Dean grabbed Cas’ hand to lead him out of the store through the maze of shimmering crystals, painted tarot cards, and velvet draped tables. Cas’ chest felt tight with hope as he allowed himself to be pulled up the stairs towards the door. While, yes, Cas was an angel, that’s not what the word had sounded like when Dean had just said it. Cas felt another wave of grace pulse through his still fragile wings. He kept his grip on Dean’s hand as if it were the only thing keeping him from drowning.

Once they got outside Dean started walking uphill towards the coffee shop he’d seen on the map. Castiel stayed quiet while following, as he didn’t want to draw Dean’s attention to the way that they were still holding hands.                

               Eventually though, they reached their destination and Dean dropped Castiel’s hand to hold open the door to the small shop with local artwork decorating the walls. Cas immediately missed the feeling of Dean’s hand but pretended to be absorbed in reading the menu board to compose himself before looking back over at his best friend.                

               “Do you see anything you want, Cas?” For one insane moment Cas almost said - yes, you. Clearing his throat to cover up his near miss Cas stumbled over his words.

               “Uh, just something warm? Would you pick? There are too many choices.” Dean’s eyes ran across the menu board for a few minutes.

               “You said you could kind of taste the peppermint bark we made, right? The have peppermint flavor on the specials board, if you want.” Cas nodded and let Dean order coffee for Castiel and hot chocolate for himself. While Dean was ordering Cas looked around at some of the artwork hanging on the walls, keeping an eye out for their last scavenger hunt angel. He was contemplating a painting that seemed to be an abstract version of a human eye when Dean came up behind him holding two mismatched mugs.

               “Let’s go upstairs, Cas. It’s kinda crowded down here and the barista told me they have an outdoor area up there.” Cas followed Dean up the stairs of the historic building. The upstairs did seem to be more peaceful. Dean walked over to doors leading outside and Cas reached in front of Dean to grab the door since he was still carrying their drinks.

               “This is beautiful,” stated Cas. The angel stood still for a moment, taking in the narrow wooden balcony that wrapped into a steep drop off of stone that served as a wall to the store but hadn’t been altered from the outside. Dean noticed what Castiel was looking at and led them back to a table right by the natural rock wall. They had an excellent view of the main street and all of the lights from their vantage point.

               “I have to admit, this is a pretty cool place.” Cas agreed with Dean and pulled his drink towards him, only then noticing that the notably handmade mug was covered in bumps that were painted to look like bees. He glanced up at Dean only to find him watching Cas in anticipation. A smile slowly spread across the angel’s face.

               “Bees? You asked them for this mug, didn’t you?” Dean chuckled.

               “Yeah. If I recall you were very enthusiastic about bees a few years ago.” If Castiel could get any redder out in the biting cold he would have.

               “I do like bees, yes.” Castiel attempted to maintain a solemn expression but this was ruined when he looked down at the mug again, feeling new feathers forming as his grace pulsed behind him once again. Dean reached across and touched Cas’ arm for just a moment.

               “Hey Cas, are you okay?” When Cas looked back up into Dean’s face, he knew his eyes had teared up a bit, but he smiled fondly at Dean nonetheless.

               “I’m wonderful Dean. I just – it was very kind of you. To think of me like that, I mean.” Castiel crinkled his nose to try and prevent himself from actually crying. Dean’s face was hard to read just then, some sort of mixture of guilt and perhaps understanding.

               “I, um, I just thought it’d make you smile man.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and Cas decided it was time to change the subject.

They began a heated discussion of where they should look next for the last angel. While they were debating the merits of looking in the small train museum it started to snow and Cas took a few seconds to enjoy the sight of the flakes falling on the beautiful street below. They made there way back inside thinking that they may just have to skip to meeting Charlie and Sam as the restaurant was at the opposite end of the main road and the snow was picking up fast. Dean grabbed Castiel’s mug to return them to the front and the angel pulled the blue and white knit hat he’d picked up over his head. He’d made Dean get one as well, in green and red, something he’d probably be less resistant too now that it was snowing. Castiel smiled at the memory of Dean’s protests over the pompom on top of the hat.

               “The guy up front said this snow may turn into a blizzard late tonight, so we should definitely regroup with the others.” Castiel silently held the knit hat up to Dean and rolling his eyes he tilted his head forward a bit so Cas could easily pull it on. Cas opened the door and was quietly happy as Dean took his hand again to lead him through the small crowd of shoppers.

***

@galaxycastiel, @jellydeans, @my-favourite-hellatus, @nguyenxtrang

[aromanticautobot]

OptiRatch Concept: Ratchet goes out for a drink by himself one late night after work. He sees a mech slip something into a young archivist's drink, and he rushes to the rescue. (How Ratchet met Orion)

After a long, grueling shift at the hospital, Ratchet would often get a drink. A job in the medical care field is emotionally and physically draining, especially after hours upon hours of being trapped in those bright corridors with the sick and unwell. Ratchet's processor would remain fired up, analytical and trained to catch every detail well into the night if he didn't take the edge off. Hard focus and stress will do that to you. There was a cozy bar not too far from the hospital, tucked between a train station and a cosmetic shop, and right across from a decently nice hotel. Drunken mechs would usually sit at the windows and whistle and howl at the newly polished bots that left the shop. The bar was a very common place to pick up onenight stands and cute, flirty bots looking for a good time.

Ratchet was never into socializing whenever he was in the bar. It was always late, he was always tired and drained, seeking out a buzz before he retreated home and slept. He was a regular at that bar for that purpose, and the only mech that ever recognized him was the gruff bartender. 

He took his usual seat at the bar, waving to the mech and setting a few credits on the counter. This was a busier night, there was more of a crowd, more loud voices and more loud music. That meant Ratchet wouldn't stay for long. He wasn't much of a partier. 

The bartender slid a cube over to him, nodding his helm in a silent greeting before making his way around to other customers. That was about as friendly as he got. 

Sipping his cube, Ratchet shifted his weight and moved his sore pedes a little. It felt good to be off of his feet, even for a short while. 

When it was this late, bots tended to be more drunk and more rowdy. Ratchet had learned not to make eye contact, he had learned from his experiences of mechs attempting to pick fights with him to impress the dolled up date they picked up from the cosmetics shop. Ratchet had learned to stare at his drink while he sat.

Perhaps it was fate that led him to glance up this one time. Perhaps his neck cables were sore from looking down for too long, and he needed to stretch them. 

His optics found the very pretty sight of a small archivist, sitting at the bar a stretch down from him. The mech was red and blue, his paint decently kept, he was no diva from the nextdoor shop, but he was well groomed. He looked small, sitting with his servos clasped in his lap, legs pressed together. He looked adorably shy. 

His attention bought, Ratchet leaned to rest his chin on his servo to watch the sweet looking mech. Big, round optics, a shy smile, a pretty, well curved frame and a cute aft. The archivist was nice to look at. Taking another sip, Ratchet contemplated walking over and striking up a conversation. He could be quite the charmer when he felt like it. . . He could converse, buy him a drink, exchange contact information.  . .

Yes, he wanted to talk to the pretty archivist.

The stool creaked as he rose off of it, but before he could take his first step, a large green mech took a seat beside the archivist and handed him a drink. 

Oh.

A little bummed, Ratchet sat back down and took a long drink of his cube. That's alright, he was a bit tired to charm a mech anyway. 

The bartender refilled his cube when he finished the first drink, grumbling when he recieved a very small tip. 

Ratchet was about a quarter in to his new drink when out of the corner of his optic, he noticed the same archivist as before, that had been completely sober, sitting up tall and timid, was seemingly completely wasted. He stumbled and fell flat as he got out of his seat, knocking a cube of energon onto a nearby femme and making her shriek angrily. 

Strange, Ratchet thought to himself, watching the small mech grip the counter to haul himself back up. He only had that one drink. 

The green mech from before came to his aid, slipped an arm around his waist and hoisted him up, supporting most of his weight. He tossed a couple credits to the femme, smiling apologetically, before pulling the archivist towards the door.

Ratchet set his cube down and watched intently. He had been watching that archivist, he was absolutely certain that the one cube was all that the mech had. One cube wasn't enough to reduce a mech to THAT state, he couldn't be completely drunk from one drink, unless- FRAG, was he drugged?

Leaving his high grade on the counter, he slid off the seat and ran for the door, the stool rotating and squeaking as he left. Pushing a couple dancing mechs out of the way, he made it through the heavy bar doors, and into the street.

"N-N. . . No. . . Sssss. . . Stop. . ." 

The archivist's slurred voice was barely audible over the voices in the bar. Ratchet broke into a sprint, watching the green mech drag the resistant archivist into an alleyway. 

"Hey!" He shouted, and the mech stopped, turning to watch him approach. He slowed to a stop as he neared them, suddenly regretting his decision. His spell of bravery seemed to be over, he had thoughtlessly charged after the pair, and now, standing before them, he had no idea what to say.

"What?" The green mech said impatiently. "I'm trying to get my friend home."

"I watched you drug his cube," Ratchet lied. "I've called the authorities. If you run now you won't be caught." 

The mech hesitated before scoffing. "You misunderstand, this is my friend. We were just out for a drink, and he got a little carried away." He laughed a little, but it wasn't too convincing. "You know how some bots are. I told him to slow down, but here we are."

"He's your friend, is he?" Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest. "What's his name, then?" 

Another moment of hesitation before the mech spoke, "Bluezone. His name is Bluezone. We work together."

"N-No-" The barely conscious archivist was weakly pushing at his chestplating, resisting against the arm supporting him. "N- I'mmm. . . Orrrion. . . Or. . . Pax. . ." 

"That's his nickname." The green mech sputtered before Ratchet could say anything.

"P-please. . . Let. . ."

"They'll be here any minute." Ratchet said with confidence, despite the fact that he hadn't called anyone. "If you don't want to be charged with attempted rape, you ought to be running." 

They stared each other down for a moment, and for a second, Ratchet worried that the mech would call his bluff.

But the mech simply shoved the archivist off of himself and bolted for the train station, brushing against Ratchet roughly as he ran past him. 

"Frag!" Ratchet stared after him briefly, before looking down at the small mech he had saved. "Are you okay?"

"Please don't. . . Please don't touch. . . Mmm. . . Me. . ." The archivist was shakily trying to push himself off the ground. Tears were running down his cheeks.

"I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." A pang of sympathy pulsed in Ratchet's field. "Can I help you up?" A weak nod answered him. He took the archivist's arm and pulled him upward, taking the majority of his weight and leading him back towards the bar. "Does anyone know you're here? Can someone pick you up?"

"I. . . Mega. . . Ngh. . ." 

"Mega? Who's that? Is that a friend of yours?"

The archivist appeared to black out for a moment.

A huff left Ratchet. That was unhelpful. The mech was too out of it to give him any useful information. He should go into the bar and ask if anyone there was named Mega, but he didn't want to leave the archivist alone, or hand him over to some other mech that would take advantage of him. 

"What the frag am I going to do with you?" Ratchet mumbled to himself. He couldn't take him home, he had no idea where he lived. His own home was too far away, he didn't think he could carry the mech's wait for that long, and the train conductor most likely wouldn't let them on.

Looking around, Ratchet tried to plan. 

His optics found the sign for the hotel across the street, tall and bright, windows casting yellow light onto the dark street. It was where the families of patients would stay whenever their loved one was in the hospital.  

Perfect.

"Come on." He pulled the weak archivist across the road, practically dragging him. Whatever the frag that dreadful mech used on him, it was strong. He was in and out of consciousness, mumbling and crying every so often.

The receptionist was a tired femme, who halfheartedly checked them in and tossed the room key onto the counter, before yawning and falling back into her chair. It took nearly all the credits from Ratchet's pocket to pay for the room, and the femme waited impatiently as he counted them out in frustration. Ratchet huffily thanked her and went to dragging his companion to the elevator. 

The trip to the room was a rocky one, but Ratchet managed, stumbling into their quarters as the archivist slipped from his hold for a second. Ratchet used the last of his strength to hoist the mech onto the fluffy, bouncy hotel berth.

Feeling the feathery comforter beneath him, the archivist seemed to panic. "N-No. . . Please. . ." He whimpered, tears streaking his handsome face. He weakly tried to push at Ratchet, his movements sloppy and uncoordinated. 

"It's okay, it's okay, I'm not going to do anything." Ratchet stepped away quickly, servos up. "I just couldn't take you anywhere else." 

He had no idea if the archivist heard him before he slipped into a drug induced recharge. 

Sighing, Ratchet sat down on the creaky hotel sofa. He was exhausted, and he had spent all his credits on the hotel room. How the frag was he going to board the train to get home? 

Whatever.

He didn't regret saving the little archivist, even if it meant he was stuck here. He'd figure something out in the morning. 

 

 

 

The smell of warm morning energon is comforting to wake to. Ratchet's systems onlined peacefully as he breathed in the sweet air, his optics opening to the ceiling of the hotel room. He had fallen asleep on the sofa, wrapped in a thin sheet. His back twinged with the pain of sleeping on the springy, creaky surface. Even when he was young, he felt old.

"Uh, good morning," a shy voice took his attention away from the ache in his spine. 

Yawning, he sat up, pushing the sheet off of him. He looked up to take in the pleasant sight of the archivist, standing timidly at the end of the sofa, those shining optics watching him nervously. "Good morning." He greeted with a small smile. 

In the archivist's servos were two cubes of steaming energon. "I'm Orion Pax." One was offered to him.

"Thank you." Ratchet took it and brought it to his lips, taking a small sip before introducing himself. "My name is Ratchet. You had quite the night, young mech. Do you remember any of it?"

Orion inhaled slowly. "I do, I remember most of it." That was surprising. "I remember you stopping that mech, and bringing me here." His voice cracked a little, and Ratchet's spark broke as tears came to his optics. "I want to say thank you, I really appreciate it."

"Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah, I just. . . It was really scary. I never thought that. . ." The little archivist sighed, trailing off and sipping his energon. He didn't seem to want to finish his sentence. 

"Well, I hope you learned something. Never accept drinks from strangers." Ratchet reached out and patted his shoulder. "I'm sorry that you went through that."

An awkward moment of silence.

"Is there anything I can do to pay you back?" Orion reached into his subspace. "I have credits, I can pay you."

"I would love to say no, and let you keep your credits, but I spent all of mine on this room, and I can't get on the train to go home. Just enough for a train ticket would be wonderful." 

"Of course!" The archivist quickly pulled out a small pouch where he kept his money. "Where do you live?"

"Near Iacon. I have an apartment." 

"Really? I work at Iacon." Orion dropped a few credits into his servo and slipped the pouch back into his subspace. "I work under Alpha Trion at the Iacon Database."

"I thought you had an Iacon look to you." Ratchet . "You know, if you'd like to take the train back together, I wouldn't mind the company."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm supposed to meet a friend." Ratchet hid his disappointment. "But. . . If you want to exchange contacts, we could meet another time. I could buy you lunch, or a drink, or whatever. I owe you so much!

"You don't owe me anything, Orion. But I would enjoy meeting you again, only if that's alright with you." 

The archivist graced him with a warm smile that ignited a heat inside him. 

I would very much like to see you again, Ratchet thought to himself. 

Yikes

Not my best writing but it's gonna be

A-Okay

[thedarkknights]

⊰ H E L L B O U N D ⊱

❥ (A/N): Hey guys, I wanted to apologize for taking so long, it’s just that I tried my best to keep the jokers in character which is rather difficult and time-consuming given that Heath is an unpredictable little fuck while Joaquin’s Joker, which I will refer to as Arthur throughout the story, is still unfamiliar territory to me. Anyways, this chapter will give a backstory in regards to how the reader met the Jokers; that being said, there won’t be much interaction between the reader and the jokers since, y’know, they’re barely meeting. Also, this is the first fic I’ve ever written so please don’t flame me too hard, although I am more than happy to receive constructive criticism! In any case, I hope y’all enjoy it :D

❥ Pairing: Heath Ledger Joker x Reader x Joaquin Phoenix Joker

❥ Summary: Don’t walk by yourself at night; you never know who or what you might come across. 

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀— ♡ —

Tonight was just like any other night — nothing out of the ordinary. Well, at least when it came to your daily “game plan,” which merely consisted of waking up, prepping for work, trying to maintain a straight appearance through your 12-hour shift, and coming home to attempt -and successfully fail- to get a decent amount of sleep. What kept gnawing your mind day and night, what kept you troubled throughout your workday and kept you up at night for continuous hours, was the constant reminder of how boring to life was. Devoid of any emotion that didn’t consist of the empty and dreary feeling of complete dissatisfaction. Every morning you’d wake up at 6:15, take 5 minutes to reflect if attending to your measly job as a waitress for Gotham’s oldest diner was worth it, and after accepting the fact that despite your job being utter shit you needed your weekly check to help pay for your rent and college tuition, you leave the warm comfort of your bed and head towards your closet to pick out your white long-sleeve shirt and black skirt of a uniform. Afterward, you make your way down to your restroom, and just before entering the shower; you take a good look at yourself in the mirror; you can’t help but notice how your dull eyes, once full of life and hope, reflect just how exhausted you are. The answer to your dilemma was simple, really, your life lacked inspiration. Excitement. Thrill. You didn’t have that little spark in you that everyone else seemed to have. After every completed day, when the sun would set, and darkness reigned the atmosphere, you reminded yourself that some desires are unattainable. Every night, rather than sleeping as an average person, would you’d lie awake, contemplating your day while staring at your ceiling. You fulfilled your daily requirements of serving ungrateful customers their once-canned meals because you needed to pay $442 per month for your college tuition alone; a degree in biological sciences? Yeah, right. Sure it’s what you aspired to receive, but you come home at 8 pm feeling wholly drained from energy, so you only study 4 hours, at best, per week. Life here in Gotham was fantastic, that is if you were Bruce Wayne. Maybe you should just marry Bruce Wayne and let him be your sugar daddy for the rest of your life. Sure. Besides, money can’t buy happiness. But it sure could buy you some more hours of sleep, right?

So here you are, walking towards Gotham’s subway to go to your apartment after a long day at work. Like a wish come true, the stairwell comes into view, just a block away. Just then, you distinctly heard what you made out to be a car burning rubber on these lonely streets, which was out-of-the-ordinary considering that Gotham wasn’t the criminal-infested, fast-paced and hectic place everyone claimed it to be. As you turn your head toward the source of the shrilling noise you saw what you considered to be a bomb get thrown out the front right window of a black vehicle which was now at least two blocks away; you couldn’t decipher what build or make the car was, but from the looks of it, it looked like a busted old-school Cadillac. While the classic car captivated your sights, the bomb detonated which scared the living shit out of you, to say the least; as if the reckless black Cady weren’t enough to alert you to get the fuck outta there and run towards safety, the massive explosion sure was. You start to run for the stairwell frantically, the harsh contact your black pumps makes with the concrete resonates within your eardrums; the staircase that ensured your safety was now just a crosswalk away. A step into the pitch-black street was all you were able to do before the black vehicle screeched to a stop at just an arm-length from you, blocking the entrance to your safe haven. 

The driver’s door was busted open as a tall man rapidly stepped out, and suddenly all attempts to escape from this gut-wrenching situation vanished; you stayed frozen in a mixture of awe and fear, gazing at the man like a deer caught in the headlights. The street lamp provided a streak of faint light, so you weren’t able to get a clear view of what the man was wearing other than a long, dark-purple trench coat, but that wasn’t what completely hypnotized you, no, it was his face. The stranger’s face was coated in poorly applied white makeup resulting in visible creases along his forehead, black smudges of paint framed his eyes up to his eyebrows, and a smear of contrasting blood-red lipstick forming a sinister smile; it was apparent he had worn this particular makeup for days. While lost in thoughts of the man before you, you failed to notice his accomplice stepping eloquently and unwavering out of the vehicle, it was until he vigorously slammed the door that you turned your attention to him. As he made his way around the front of the Cadillac, you noticed he had a stern look in his face, one that failed to project the light-hearted vibes that were usually associated with the classical clown makeup that decorated his face. The dim-yellow lighting provided by the street lamp prevented you from pinpointing the correct tone of the tuxedo this man was sporting, but there was no mistake in the coloring, it was red. Red like the devil himself. Your eyes wandered from his green locks downwards until you reached his hand, it was then you realized he was holding a bazooka. You practically felt the intense panic born from this observation ooze from every pore of your skin, your eyes never losing sight of the firearm in trepidation of what might occur next.  

“Well, hello beautiful” chirped the man before you in a playful tone, a tone that was unaccounted for, given the current circumstances. In any other situation, you would’ve welcomed the words with a warm smile, but that was an impossible task this time around; you slowly turned your head toward the source of the voice only to find the purple-clothed clown visually-inspecting you. He closed the short distance between the two of you all while lifting his hand and resting it upon your shoulder, giving him easy access to your ear; he wasted no time and whispered into your ear, “I’ll get back to you in a second, excuse me.” His hot breath made contact with your sensitive skin sending chills down your spine, your uncovered skin betraying you by exposing the goosebumps that rose all over your skin. There was something about this mysterious clown that aroused your senses, and even though you probably wouldn’t ever admit it, his brief contact left you desiring for more. Why did this menacing individual have such an effect on you? Immediately after, he spun to face his partner and pointed his index finger towards him, “y'know, for a man who loves to play with guns, you sure have terrible aim” he said teasingly only to radically change his tone into a relatively dour one within a matter of seconds, “try not to miss this time, will you?”, and just like that he began to march forward. Curiosity got the best of you as you turned in his direction, and it was then you noticed a caped-man riding a dark-colored opaque motorcycle towards the joker; the clown hunched his shoulders down as he came into an abrupt stop, clenching his fists as he daringly stared forward at the caped crusader. Then it hit you at once, the bomb previously thrown was used to create a divergence between the caped crusader and the jokers, which only meant that the bazooka was to be used for him as well. Your jaw dropped in horror, and your knees were seconds away from giving out until you heard a soft, tender voice utter, “you might wanna duck here, doll”; you flipped your head towards the formally dressed clown only to find him down on one knee, resting the bazooka on his shoulder as he tried to get an accurate hold of his target. Without a moment’s hesitation, you threw yourself onto the hard asphalt and quickly shielded your head with your arms allowing your forearms to cover your ears as you tightly shut your eyelids. 

All was quiet for a couple of seconds until a loud, monstrous blast resonated within the lonely streets of Gotham; your eardrums produced an eerie ring that made your skin crawl. You gently rose onto you knees and slowly opened your eyes taking notice how your knees were scrapped due to the savage manner in which you threw yourself on the road; realization hit you like a train, and you hastily turned towards the raging flames produced from the explosion, your eyes desperately looking for the joker and the motorcyclist. You registered how the motorcycle was bursting in uncontrollable flames, and in that instant, you felt a sharp pain in your stomach, causing you to clench the bottom of your dirt-stained shirt. You then turned your head downwards in shock and defeat, taking notice of your lightly bleeding palms; as you faintly began to message them to prevent yourself from crying, you heard a fit of hysterical laughter. In alert, you frantically searched for the source of the sinister guffawing, but a particular silhouette interrupted your plans as it captured your complete attention; Just like a soldier valiantly rising to face their opponent once again after receiving a severe beat down, the masked individual arose with great exhaustion from the pavement, having to use his right knee to leverage himself upwards. Your eyes widened in sudden realization of who this masked man was; he was none other than the infamous crime-fighting vigilante known as the Batman, the dark knight willing to sacrifice just about anything to provide security and restore hope to the citizens of Gotham. You couldn’t control yourself any longer and finally permitted your eyes to release tears full of joy and relief, relief that your hero, the man capable of helping you escape this horrible situation, was still alive; the moment truly felt like a divine experience until a low, diabolical growl made itself present within the corner of your eye. 

You cautiously faced the clown as he strode towards the Batman. 

“Y’know, I would’ve thought that after the death of your little boy-scout buddy, Robin was it?, you would’ve learned your lesson,” he said viciously as he reached for a crowbar hidden within the inner pockets of his coat, “but no, you just have to have things your way, don’t you? Guess history really does repeat itself, huh?”

“You’re an immoral scum with no respect for anyone or anything, not even for human life”

“that makes two of us, doesn’t it? You’re no different than me, you broke your one, golden rule with Harvey. In fact, I think you and I are so similar that we deserve to share something more than just a flawed moral status, don’t we? How ‘bout some scars, huh? Here I’ll help get you started,” and with that, he grasped the crowbar and charged at Batman with full force, directly striking his forehead, which sent him crashing right into the dark asphalt. 

The Joker swung at him repeatedly, his strength increasing exponentially after each impact when suddenly the Batman caught the head of the crowbar and jerked the metal backward sending the opposite end crashing down onto the Joker’s lower rib causing the clown to curse and bend in pain; he remained in that position for a fraction of a second only to straighten back and expel a wicked laughter from his throat that caused your heart to halt for a second. There was no doubt in mind that The Joker was like no other man, and you knew things were only going to take a turn for the worst; you wanted to help Batman, you truly did, but what exactly were you going to do? What could you do? Run up there and scream at the Joker to stop? Put your non-existent strength to the test and take a few jabs at the clown? As the Batman said, The Joker was a man that had no rules, that lived to put every belief into question, that took pleasure in demonstrating how any moral code was ill-founded; a man that had no real purpose in life other than to create absolute chaos. Just his mannerisms alone reflected how mentally unstable he was, the way in which he would roughly clench his fists that he would crack his knuckles, how he repeatedly licked his cherry-red lips in anticipation for havoc, how he snarled so ferally his whole body vibrated. Your head fell sideways in defeat, you felt as if you could cry once again but instead of releasing tears of joy, they’d be salty tears of incompetence. 

“Oh, you…you really are a stubborn person y'know that? Let’s play for a while longer. Then we’ll be able to see just how tough your little act of courage really is,” the Joker barked bitterly.

“You can entertain yourself with me all you want Joker, just let the girl go. That’s beneath you,” Batman said in genuine fear of what a low-life criminal like the Joker could do to a defenseless woman like yourself, the pain of his previous beating evident in his strained voice. Your ears perked up at the mention of your presence, a feeling of disgrace washing over you as you cognized how willing the Batman was to save you despite his helpless state. 

“Oh, you mean the little poodle? No, no, we got plans for her. But don’t worry, Arthur here will take good care of her,” the joker replied in a mischievous voice as he turned to face someone behind you, tucking his bottom lip below his upper lip.

It was then you realized that you had been so absorbed within the Batman-Joker ordeal that you completely disregarded the menacing clown behind you. And you really had failed to notice the way he observed you with lustful eyes, how he quietly took notice of every breath you exhaled, of the lock of hair you hid behind your ear, of the thin-layer of eyeliner that framed your eyes and the lip balm that moisturized your lips; he visually measured your breast size, picturing his hands softly caressing your breasts. Arthur didn’t fail to overlook how your tight, black skirt slowly rose from your knees up to your thighs, secretly worshipping your newly exposed skin. 

You whipped your head to face the clown, your pupils dilating in fear as you make direct eye contact with Arthur, who sported a wide grin across his face. Like a rabbit after spotting it’s stalking predator, you desperately tried to create a distance between the two of you, your plan being to rush to the Batman for safety despite knowing his current condition. Unfortunately, Arthur caught you from behind, imprisoning your arms and waist with his left arm all while covering your nasal and oral airways with a damp cloth using his right hand. 

After writhing under his unforgiving hold for what felt like hours, you fell limp under his firm clasp, feeling yourself slowly descent into a state of light-headedness due to the suffocation. As your body started to slump back onto Arthur, you were able to appreciate how comforting it felt to be under his hold, how warm his arms felt around your body. It was rather alarming, to say the least, how this man was able to put your mind in ease; it was as though something about him was able to fulfill that empty feeling in your chest. No longer in a state of panic, your muscles relaxed as you started to slip into an unconscious state, the last thing your mind was able to register was how the Joker ferociously thrashed Batman with his crowbar, which was now dripping in blood. 

A wave of sorrow washed over your body, and then that was it; everything just stopped. 

Everything simply got dark and quiet…

➳ Tag List: @aethersghoulette @tsukiakarinobara @lasquadrahoe @geronimosanna @clownboi24601 @justahyena @the-fanficcer  @khasoa @mimas749 

[nazariolahela]

Best Beloved: Chapter 6

A/N: Hey y'all! This is a PM AU I’ve been working on. It’s a bit different than my previous fic series and I’m really excited to try something new. I hope y’all enjoy it. This story is told in dual first-person narrative, from Kaia (F!MC) and Damien’s POV. The first half of this story takes place during Kaia’s freshman year and Damien’s senior year of college. The second half is two years after Kaia graduates. There will be sprinklings of canon in this fic, but we’ll try to step out of the box for the most part. Thanks for reading, and please leave feedback, and/or if you would like to be tagged.

Catch up here

Series Tags: @burnsoslow​ @lady-calypso​​​ @irishwhiskys-blog​ @loveellamae​

Synopsis: What happens when you find yourself crushing on your best friend? For years, Damien and Kaia have been friends, while secretly harboring feelings for one another. Everything changes one night after a little too much alcohol and years of pent up feelings. Can they control their emotions and salvage their friendship, or will the feelings they hold for one another destroy everything they have?

All characters are the property of Pixelberry Studios. Thanks for allowing me to borrow them.

Chapter Summary: It’s the night of the homecoming dance, and things are burning up on and off the dance floor.

Kaia

“Stop fidgeting. You’re going to mess up my hard work,” Nadia snapped as she put the finishing touches on my hair. It was the night of the Homecoming dance and the whole campus was in a festive mood. The year’s homecoming week featured a "Wizard of Oz" inspired theme, aptly titled, “There’s No Place Like Homecoming." 

Judging by the lineup of activities, that statement wasn’t entirely false. The week’s festivities kicked off with a Wizard’s Festival on the Campus Green. Members of the Campus Activities Board were donned in costumes that could have been featured in the actual film. The rest of the week featured a Pep Rally, a campus scavenger hunt, and a concert featuring pop star Alyssa Griffin.

The parade was held earlier in the day, where the Homecoming Court was presented. The queen was Damien’s friend(?), senior Cecile Contreras. I recognized her from that day in the bistro. She eyed me with such disgust, if looks could kill, I would have dropped dead right then and there. The king was another senior by the name of Mikail Greene. I recall seeing him in passing on campus. He seemed nice. Damien said he was really popular with the student body.

The football game followed shortly after. The Badgers took an early lead but ultimately lost in OT. Steve had another stellar game, of course. I heard from people in the crowd how he was already drawing interest from NFL scouts as a freshman. When I asked Steve about it after the game, he brushed it off, saying he wouldn’t be draft-eligible for another two years.

“Okay! We’re all done. Now, get dressed. I want to see the finished product,” Nadia said, giving my updo a final spritz with hairspray.

I retreated to the bathroom and grabbed my homecoming dress hanging on the back of the door. I pulled the dress off the hanger and examined it. It was a low-cut, sparkly red, spaghetti strap number with a gold belt at the waist. I ran my fingers across the A-Line tulle skirt and smiled as I slipped the dress over my head, careful not to mess up my hair. Once I was dressed, I applied my makeup and took one last look at myself in the mirror. Students of Hartfeld, eat your heart out!

I swung the bathroom door open and stepped out into the shared space of our dorm. Nadia turned and gasped when she caught sight of me all dolled up.

“Ohmygods, Kaia! You look amazing!” she said, her eyes welling with tears.

“Really?” I asked, twirling around the room.

She nodded. “Whoever you’re planning on impressing tonight is going to be blown away.” She didn’t say it, but I knew she meant Damien. To be honest, I’d been upping my game in terms of my appearance lately. Ever since he told me he and Alana had been having problems, I’d been going out of my way to show him what he was missing. I put my hand on Nadia’s shoulder in a silent thanks, then moved to my room to retrieve my clutch.

Once we were ready, we exited the dorm and made our way to the parking lot. Steve’s trusty blue Chevy pickup sat in the empty space in front of our building. He and Sloane were seated on the tailgate, showing each other something on their phones. Steve looked up and a wide grin spread across his face when he noticed Nadia.

“Babe...You look...wow…” he stuttered as she wrapped her arms around his neck and peppered his face with kisses. I turned towards Sloane and gave her a bright smile as she hopped off the tailgate.

“Your dress is so pretty!” I squealed motioning for her to twirl. Her dress was similar in style and material as mine but in a light blue color.

“Thanks! Yours too! You ready to go?” she said, smoothing down her skirt.

I hooked my thumb back towards Steve and Nadia. “Sure. As soon as those two come up for air.”

Sloane laughed and shouted at the kissing couple to break it up. Nadia flipped us the bird, then we all piled into the pickup and made our way towards the Sports and Activities Center, where the homecoming dance was held every year. When we pulled up in the parking lot, it looked a lot different from the first time we were here. Gone were the tailgaters; replaced with a few remaining parade floats being dismantled and students in formal attire.

We walked the sidewalk that connected the parking lot to the football stadium and activities center, noticing it temporarily painted yellow to simulate a “Yellow Brick Road.”

“Cute,” I said to myself as we made our way inside the center. The doorman took our tickets and directed us to the field house which had been transformed into The Emerald City.

“Ohmygods, Kaia! I just realized your dress reminds me of Dorothy’s shoes!” Nadia squealed, squeezing my hand. 

My eyes roamed the room, taking in the magnificent job that CAB did on the decorations. A dance floor occupied the center of the room with several high-top tables scattered around it. The DJ booth was set up towards the back of the room under one of the basketball hoops. The bleachers were folded up on either side of the room to allow space for a photo booth and a bar area.

We moved through the room and found an empty table. The music from the DJ booth filled the room as dancers moved about the dance floor. A flash of black hair caught my eye and I turned to see Hayden strutting towards me. He had no business looking so good in a blue vest over a grey dress shirt and gray checkered tie. His eyes met mine and he grinned from ear to ear. When he arrived at our table, his eyes traveled the length of my body and I felt my cheeks and ears burning up.

“There’s no place like home,” he muttered under his breath and I barely caught what he said.

“What?”

“Nothing. You look amazing. Wanna dance?”

I looked over at Nadia and Steve, who were attached at the mouth. Sloane was nowhere to be found. I gnawed on my bottom lip, contemplating his offer. Damien’s words crept into my mind. You should give him a chance. Who knows? He might turn out to be a great guy. I turned back to Hayden and gave him a soft smile. “Sure. Let’s go.”

His eyes lit up as he took my hand and led me to the dance floor. Maroon 5’s “Animals” blared from the speakers as we moved together. I swayed my body to the beat, lost in the rhythm of the music. When I opened my eyes, I saw Hayden dancing, but his eyes were fixed on me. The intensity of his gaze made my skin instantly flushed. When the song came to an end, a slower track followed and I took this as my cue to grab a drink.

“You thirsty?” I asked.

He nodded and led me over to the bar. I perused the menu. Damn, no alcohol. I ordered both of us one of the signature “mocktails.” The bartender gave us our drinks and we made our way back to the table. Nadia and Steve were missing in action, but Sloane was standing there talking to a guy with auburn hair. She smiled when she saw Hayden and I approaching.

“Hey, guys! How was the dance floor?”

“Crowded,” Hayden replied, sipping his mocktail. The redhead guy whispered something in Sloane’s ear and she nodded before he walked away.

“So, who’s your friend?” I smirked at her.

“Oh, just some guy in my Spanish Comp class. Whatcha drinking?” she asked, eyeing my glass.

“It’s the signature mocktail. They’re pretty tasty. Have you tried one yet?” I said to her, holding up the multi-colored drink.

“Yeah, Derek went to grab us some.” She looked at Hayden, then back at me. Her eyes silently asked what was up between him and I. I smirked and shook my head as if to say, “tell ya later.” Derek returned shortly and the four of us fell into a comfortable conversation. He and Sloane had a class together and had been texting for a few weeks. I learned that Derek was a sophomore and a member of CAB. I complimented him on the decor, to which smiled and nodded. He finished his drink and asked her if she wanted to dance.

“Watch my drink for me?” she asked.

I nodded and smiled as Derek led her out to the dance floor, leaving Hayden and me alone. He rested his forearms on the tabletop and turned to me.

“So, you excited for midterms?”

I laughed. “Who would be excited about that?”

“Well, me for one. It means the semester’s half over.”

“Hmm...good point. I guess that’s one thing to look forward to,” I replied and took a sip of my drink.

He nodded and we fell into an awkward silence, watching the crowd. After a few minutes, he cleared his throat and spoke up. “So, I know I asked you this before, and I don’t want to come off too desperate, but I really like you, Kaia. And I know you like me too.” 

My cheeks flushed. How did he know? As if he could read my thoughts, he continued. “Your cousin told me.” 

Damnit, Nadia!

He smiled and continued. “Let me take you out. We don’t even have to call it a date. I just want to get to know you.” He reached across the table and took my hand in his, lightly brushing his thumb across my knuckles.

I looked down at our joined hands, then back up at him. My body reacting to the contact. Why was I acting like this? We were both single and obviously attracted to each other. What could it hurt? For some odd reason, my thoughts wandered to Damien. Jesus, what was wrong with me. He wasn’t available. It was because of him that I was hesitant to pull the trigger with Hayden. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to clear my thoughts. When I opened my eyes, Hayden was looking at me expectantly.

“Okay.”

He seemed taken aback. “Okay?”

I nodded. “Okay, okay. Let’s do it. Take me out. When are you free?”

A wide grin spread across his face. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Whatever you want to do,” I replied.

Something flashed in his eyes. He grabbed my hand and brought it to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on the back of it. “I think it’s time for another dance. Don’t you?”

I nodded and let him lead me out onto the dance floor. Ariana Grande and The Weeknd’s “Love Me Harder” started playing and Hayden placed his hands on my waist as we swayed back and forth. I looped my arms around his neck and pulled him close, pressing our foreheads together.

“Kaia? Can I ask you something?” he whispered into my ear.

“Sure,” I replied.

“What changed?”

I pulled back and searched his face. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. “I mean. I’ve been asking you out for almost a month now, and you’ve been side-stepping giving me a definite answer. Don’t get me wrong. I’m so happy you finally said yes, but I’m curious what changed?”

I thought back to the conversation I had with Damien in the bistro. How I was too afraid to pursue anything with Hayden because I was still harboring feelings for him. Would I ever get over them? Maybe in time. And he would always hold a special place in my heart. But this schoolgirl crush was getting in the way of me having a life. “Honestly? I just felt like it was time I got my shit together.”

Hayden seemed to accept that answer and pulled me back against him. We danced through two more songs, laughing and talking. As the current song was coming to a close, I looked across the room and saw him. Damien. The sight of him caused my breath to catch. He looked absolutely mouth-watering in a navy blue suit. The top two buttons of his dress shirt were unbuttoned, giving me a glimpse of his chest. 

He had his arm wrapped around Alana’s waist, but his eyes held mine with a look of pure lust mixed with jealousy. He leaned down and whispered something into Alana’s ear, never taking his eyes off mine. Hayden came up behind me and wrapped his arm around my waist. Damien looked over to him, then back at me.

I was the first to break eye contact, turning to Hayden and telling him that I had to use the restroom. He nodded and headed back to our table as I made my way through the crowd to the ladies' room. I grabbed the first open stall and rushed inside, shutting the door. I leaned up against the stall door and sucked in several deep breaths. What the hells was wrong with me? I was here with another guy, but I was eye-fucking my best friend from across the room. Jesus! Get ahold of yourself, Kaia!

***

Damien

Alana and I walked into the gym hand-in-hand. The strobe lights danced across the room as some upbeat pop song poured from the speakers. We spotted Cecile and Rowan dancing together, the lights reflecting off Cecile’s Homecoming Queen crown. Alana pulled me toward one of the tables and set her clutch down on the tabletop. She scanned the room, taking in the decor.

“Well, at least it's better than last year’s theme,” she huffed.

I cringed. Last year’s homecoming theme was “Boot-Scootin’ Victory,” a western-themed event that was as cheesy as you’d expect. I’m not sure who approved that one. The entire campus looked like a scene from the movie, “Tombstone.” The dance was even worse. CAB hired a country-western band to entertain, and they played nothing but ‘90s country music for the entirety of the dance. 

The most amusing thing that happened was watching the basketball team try to line-dance. A video of the team’s center riding a mechanical bull went viral, causing his draft stock to dip. Apparently, NBA scouts frown upon a 6’10” player having almost-sex with his girlfriend on the mechanical bull at the school dance.

Cecile and Rowan joined us a few minutes later at our table. Rowan and I made small talk while Cecile and Alana reenacted an episode of Project Runway, judging the dresses of our classmates. Rowan left to go grab drinks for the table, leaving me with the girls. I leaned over the table and congratulated Cecile on winning Homecoming Queen. She scowled, then muttered thanks.

I chuckled to myself. She was probably still pissed about seeing me and Kaia together at the bistro. I know she tattled to Alana right after they left. That night, Alana came to my dorm. We fought, made love, fought again, then didn’t talk for two days. I remembered Kaia’s words in the bistro when I told her about mine and Alana’s relationship troubles. This whole relationship seems really unhealthy. There’s a huge lack of trust on both sides. That’s something a break isn’t going to fix. If she only knew.

Rowan returned to the table with the drinks. I picked up the glass and eyed it skeptically as the green and yellow colors swirled together. I took a sip and turned up my nose.

“What the hells is this?”

“Some signature mocktail. Pineapple, orange and melon juice,” he said, taking a drink of his. “And it tastes like shit.”

He reached into his suit jacket and retrieved a flask, pouring what I assumed was alcohol into the cup. He turned and offered me some. I held out my drink and he dumped a splash of the clear liquid into my glass. I shook my head. “More.” He smirked and kept pouring until I motioned for him to stop. I took a drink. It was better, but not by much. I bit my tongue and chugged the drink, happy to finally have finished it off.

As Alana and Cecile continued to gossip, I spotted Nadia and some blonde kid making their way towards me. Her eyes lit up when she saw me and moved faster through the crowd. She wrapped her arms around me in a bone-crushing hug.

“Damien Elvis Nazario! Have you been avoiding me this semester?” she squealed.

I laughed. “Even if I was, you’d track me down.”

“It’s like you know me,” she replied.

I looked over her shoulder to see Alana staring at us with a scowl. I detached myself from Nadia and introduced her to Alana. The two women sized each other up in some sort of awkward standoff. After several tense moments, Nadia grabbed the arm of the guy she was with and drug him over to us. “Damien. I want you to meet Steve, my boyfriend.”

At the mention of his name, I remembered Kaia telling me about him at the frat party. “Ah, yes, Tennyson. Good game today, man. You’ve been tearing it up this season.”

He nodded and shook my hand. “Thanks, man. I know it’s still early, but I think we have a shot at the natty this year.”

The two of us talked for a few minutes before Alana wrapped her arms around me from behind and began pulling me toward the dance floor. I rolled my eyes and said my goodbyes to Nadia and Steve, then followed her. We made our way through the tables and found a spot near the edge of the crowd. A slow pop ballad played and Alana wrapped her arms around my neck. I rested my hands on her hips as we swayed to the music. As we danced, I scanned the crowd.

At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. I caught a glance of her on the other side of the dance floor. Kaia. My Kaia. She looked like a goddess in that shimmery red dress. She was dancing with some tall guy with black hair. He leaned down and whispered something in her ear, and she started laughing. The jealousy radiated through my body. I watched her as the other guy rested his hands on her waist. I wanted to sprint across the dance floor and break both of his arms. Instead, I stood there — my arms wrapped around my girlfriend — watching my best friend dance with another man.

She looked up and locked eyes with me. Her shocked expression caused my lips to turn up in a small smile. She looked over at Alana, who was talking to some random girl. She probably introduced me, but I was too preoccupied watching Kaia to care. I glanced over at my best friend’s date, then back at her. The two of us stared at each other across the room for several moments before I felt Alana tug at my arm.

“I’m going to go grab another drink. Do you want anything?” she asked.

I leaned down, never taking my eyes off Kaia and muttered in her ear. “No, I’m good. I’m gonna go use the restroom.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Alana move away. Kaia turned to her date, said something to him, then made her way through the crowd towards the doors of the gym. I waited 10 seconds, making sure Alana or none of her friends were around, then followed her. I reached the doors leading to the hallway when I saw her enter the bathroom. The alcohol began to take effect as I walked past a couple making out against the trophy case and stood outside the entrance to the bathroom.

Several minutes passed before she emerged. Her head was down, and she didn’t notice me until she nearly crashed into me.

“Holy shit! Damien!” she said, nearly toppling over. It was very reminiscent of the first day of school. I reached out and grabbed her arm to steady her. The touch of her smooth skin sent my senses into overdrive.

“We’ve gotta stop running into each other like this,” I smiled. She laughed and my chest tightened. My eyes raked up and down her body. Fuck, she looked phenomenal. That dress hugged her curves. I wanted to reach out and feel the fabric between my fingers

“You here by yourself?” I asked.

“I came with Nadia, Steve, and Sloane. They’re around here somewhere.”

I noticed she didn’t mention the guy she was dancing with. Which meant she didn’t come here with him. “No date?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Technically, no.”

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Hayden. You remember me telling you about him, right?” she smirked. I saw the amusement in her expression. Of course, I did. I was the one who told her to go out with him.

I nodded my head. “So, you finally decided to give the poor guy a chance.”

“I did. He’s taking me out tomorrow,” she smiled and it made me jealous.

“Oh yeah? On a Sunday?” I replied sharply, the alcohol giving me courage.

She cocked an eyebrow. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. He didn’t want to wait until next weekend to see me again.” I could hear the challenge in her voice.

I shoved my hands in my pants pockets. “Hmm...that’s interesting. Usually, guys who aren't that interested take girls out on Sundays.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” she scowled.

I shrugged. “I just know that Sundays are usually the day when people wind down from the weekend and prepare for their week. So, he probably won’t be all there mentally.”

Annoyance flashed in her eyes. “I don’t know why you give a shit, Dames. You were the one who told me to go out with him. He likes me and I like him. Why is that such a big deal to you?”

“I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into. I mean, what do you know about this kid anyway besides his dog’s name and what classes he has?”

That seemed to piss her off even more. She stood up straight and stepped into my space. Her voice was low but held so much anger. “What the hells has gotten into you, Damien? First, you encourage me to go out with the guy. Now you’re trying to talk me out of it. You’re my best friend, not my dad. You don’t even know him, so stop judging him. The whole reason I’m going out with him is so I can get to know him. Why don’t you just back off?”

A loose strand of hair fell from her updo into her face. On instinct, I reached out and tucked it behind her ear, my palm brushing her soft cheek in the process. Her breath hitched at the contact. My eyes traveled to her mouth as she gnawed on her bottom lip. I knew my presence was making her nervous. That was her tell.

Thanks to the combination of the alcohol coursing through my body and the tension between us, I threw all inhibition out the window and leaned in to capture her mouth in a kiss. She froze for a moment, then her body melted as she gave in. A slight gasp escaped her lips as I wrapped my hand around the back of her neck and pulled her to me. I knew what we were doing was wrong, but damn if it felt so right. My fingers tangled in her hair and I slipped my other arm around her waist. Her lips parted slightly, allowing my tongue to dart into her mouth and massage hers. I had forgotten how good it felt to kiss her.

”Damien,” she whimpered.

My hands traveled down her back and cupped her ass. She moaned in my mouth, the sound shooting straight to my dick. I pressed my growing hard-on into her thigh. ”That's it, Kaia. Say my name.”

”Damien, please,” she said, breaking the kiss. She pressed her palms flat against my chest and shoved me back. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You have a girlfriend.”

“And?” I replied, moving closer.

She stepped back. “You should figure your shit out with her first. I won’t be a cheater,” she huffed.

“Kaia,” I said, my voice coming out in a harsh whisper.

“I have to get back to my date.” She looked me up and down, noticing the bulge in my crotch. “You should probably do the same.” She took one last look at me before turning and stomping down the hallway back towards the dance. She stopped at the entrance to the gym and turned back to me. The intensity of her gaze made me want to march up to her and claim her in front of the whole school, but my feet were rooted to the floor. Her eyes searched mine, both of our gazes saying what our mouths couldn’t. After a few beats, she shook her head and walked back inside.

I stood there and watched the door, waiting for her to come back. When she didn’t, I sighed and made my way back to the gym. I scanned the crowd for her but gave up after a few moments. Spotting Alana at our table with Rowan and Cecile, I raked my hand through my hair and sighed before walking back to my girlfriend.

[headoverhiddles]

Grotesk Burlesk - Hans Landa x Marilyn Manson [Smut]

Synopsis: Colonel Landa finds himself a fish out of water as a patron at a racy club in Berlin, but his affections are stolen by a tall, dark and mysterious performer who is more than meets the eye. This fic is also available on ao3!

Notes: Special thanks to @ninavantastisch​ for saving me with the German translation! 

This is the song performed in this fic, and this is the style in which it is performed. Give it a watch/listen before you read. Also, warning for mild period-typical homophobia and accidental misgendering! 

Tagging: @blueinkblot​ @daughterofdesire​ @wingsy-keeper-of-songs​ (and @skin-slave​ you might like this!) 

Everything had been getting on Landa's nerves. The job, his subordinates making even the slightest mistake. He was on edge, moody, and short-- this is how he came to visit Das Haus des Gold during his time off, a nightclub not typically frequented by those of his social standing.  

"Schöner Laden," (Lovely place) Lt. Schmidt observed, as his fellow lieutenant grinned widely at a passing waitress dressed in a black corset.

"Ein bisschen klein aber in Ordnung," (A little small, but alright) Captain Von Wolff nodded, narrowing his eyes, and turned to Hans. "Wenn es Ihnen nicht zusagt, Oberst dann können wir auch woanders hingehen." (If this does not please you, colonel, we can find another place.)

“Ich denke es ist schon in Ordnung,” (I think it is alright) Lt. Orlock said, still watching the young lady in black, and earned a quick smack to the back of the head from Von Wolff.

Hans thought about this. It was obviously not an establishment he would have picked out. It was filled with dada-esque low art, which would normally disgust him. Still. Was this such a bad thing? Art is to be appreciated in any form, and Landa knew that better than any in his company, being a man of culture himself. Furthermore, it was to be expected of every member of the army that they, in their recreation, find something on the side to amuse them, keep them in good spirits. But Hans, he could hardly bear the idea of getting too chummy with his fellow officers in a place like this. He was an authority figure to be feared, not "one of the men".

That really wasn’t any reason to turn down a nice night on the town, however. It was better than another night of interrogation of those dim-witted enough to believe they could outsmart him.

Von Wolff took Landa's silence as apprehension, and began to back them away to the door. "Ich hätte Schmidt nicht die Planung, für diesen Abend, überlassen sollen…" (I shouldn't have let Schmidt plan this night...)

"Nein," Hans put up a hand with a small smile, "Nein. Es ist ein schönes Établissement." (No, no. It is a fine establishment.)

“Aber, Colonel Landa—”

“Das klingt schrecklich nach einem Kapitän, der die Entscheidung seines Vorgesetzten in Frage stellt. Oder bin ich nur empfindlich?” (This sounds an awful lot like a captain questioning his superior's decision. Or am I just sensitive?)

“…Nein, Herr Colonel. Natürlich nicht.” (No, Colonel. Of course not.)

The three entered the nightclub, and were seated.

A young blonde lady in a small black dress came over. Landa could see her garter belt, and gave her a once over.

"Was kann ich Ihnen bringen?" (What can I get for you?)

"Nur ein schönes, kaltes Glass Milch für mich. Danke." Hans smiled warmly at her. (Just a nice cold glass of milk for me, thanks.) If she was at all confused over his order, she didn’t show it, as the rest of the men ordered tall beers. She departed to promptly to fill their orders.

"Die Damen hier sind reizend," Landa commented. (The women here are lovely.) Just then, the black curtains drew, and the lights dimmed. Two girls shimmied out onstage, bound together as Siamese twins by a stitched up straight jacket. Interesting visual display. They started to play piano, a dark, sexy melody, and a tall figure came out.

She was dressed in heels, long smooth legs running up to black pantyhose and a small black dress covering what could not be left to the imagination. She had a bowler hat down over her eyes, but her lips were luscious and deep red, contrasting against her vampirically pale skin. Strands of short black hair protruded from beneath the hat as she reached up with fingerless gloved hands to move the hat up. Long faux eyelashes were revealed, as they barely dusted the crystals that adorned her cheeks. She lifted her chin, and with a sultry little spin, began to sing.

"Well our monkeys have monkeys, we drive our death crushed diamond jaguar limousine... we're not fantastic mother-fuckers, but we play them on TV..."

Hans was lost in the sway of her hips, her deeper-than-most voice, and the provocative movements of her body. She came to the front of the stage, saluting while parting her long, slender legs. "It's a dirty word, 'Reich', say... what you like, it's a dirty word, 'Reich', say... what you like." She winked the officers' way with that line after noticing their uniforms, and launched into a chorus that was just as sexy.

"We're the low art gloominati, and we... aim to depress... the scab-aret sacrilegends, this is the golden age of grotesque..."

She got up on a platform of sorts, and began to grind her hips against the microphone stand, something that got a considerable rise out of the crowd.

"I got the jigger to make all you bigger, ladies und gentlemen... so drop your piss room bait and make sure you're not late you tramps and lunatics." She held up a finger gun to her forehead, and licked her red lips as she looked directly at Hans.

"Cause the trick... 'sgonna make you.... click."

Landa readjusted in his seat, hoping his men couldn’t see how affected by the performance he really was. This performer was absolutely beautiful. Oh, what those red lips could do around him. Where those slender fingers could touch. This was true art, no doubt in Landa's mind, not Goebbels' drivel propaganda he peddles to the Fuehrer for praise. Landa may be an officer, but he wasn’t blind. This singer could enthrall the entire country with a look alone.

"We sing la, la la la... la la la, we sing la la la la la." The dark haired beauty smirked, tipping that bowler hat back. "La, la la la... la la la, we sing la la la, la la..." She finished off her song with a little bow, and a kiss blown out to the audience. Landa toiled during her next number, a song she introduced as Doll Dagga Buzz Buzz Ziggety Zag. Watching her dance, he narrowed his eyes. There's something about that performer he couldn’t shake. Something different, something... secret. And make no mistake, there was no better man in the country at detecting secrets than Hans Landa. He sat, frozen in reverie as she went on to her third and final song, something about a mobscene.

"Sie ist unglaublich!” (She's incredible!) Schmidt whispered, “Tiefe Stimme, aber.... wunderschön.” (Low voice, but… beautiful.)

Hans wondered what it could be that he was picking up on with this singer. Usually he was better at figuring out what people are hiding. It could just be the fact that one of her eyes was white, while the other was dark… that could be throwing him off.

Interrupting his contemplation a few minutes later, the music picked up a little to a raunchy jazz number, as a curvy, radiant black haired beauty came strutting onstage in a glittery dress and top hat. She winked at the crowd as she shrugged off her feather boa to the music, and began to unzip her dress from behind.

"Was für eine Art von Club ist das hier, Schmidt?” (What kind of club is this, Schmidt?) Von Wolff demanded, though he was unable to take his eyes off the stage.

"Meine liebste Art!” (My favourite kind!) Orlock answered for him, clapping for the girl and laughing. Though this one was beautiful too, Landa simply could not get the mystery and allure of the last performer's eyes out of his mind. As the brunette began to strip, Hans excused himself from his officers, and slipped backstage. He searched around for a moment, then found who he was looking for. The captivating singer from the stage.

"Guten abend, schöne Fraulein."

"I don't speak German," the performer said, taking down one of the stockings on a long, pale leg, "My songs back there were in English, in case you didn't notice."

Hans adjusted his speech accordingly. "Your music still, is very much influenced by German culture, is it not?"

The singer began to lift up the little dress past their undergarments. "Yeah. You're right about that."

"So. An American out of his comfort zone."

And a man, so it would seem. So that's what they were hiding. Hans' gaze lingered for more than a few seconds.

"I wouldn't say I'm out of my comfort zone," the crossdresser tilted his head, "I've got you in the palm of my hand in a small dressing room, small enough for me to either suck your cock or stab you with my hairpin. If I stabbed you, I could go home a war hero." He reached down to unlace his g-string, then looked up, raising his shaved eyebrows. "Mind if I readjust my crotch?"

Hans smiled slightly at the man's blunt language, finding it refreshing. He held up a hand to show he did not mind, and steered the conversation back. "What is stopping you from using... what did you say? A hairpin, to murder me?" Hans smiled. He was rather enjoying this man already. The performer pursed his painted lips.

"I don't get involved in wars. I just do what I do best. Drink expensive absinthe, look pretty, and perform."

"You do certainly do the last two well, yes," Landa nodded, "Do you have any proof of the first point?"

Manson smirked, realizing what the man was asking. He reached behind his vanity, and pulled out a thin bottle. He took two glasses, pouring a bit in each.

“What is your name?”

“…Marilyn.”

“It’s a beautiful name. Is it your real one?”

“Nothing in this world is for real.” He pulled out some distilled water, and added that to both glasses, watching the liquid go a milky green. "Here. Sorry, no sugar spoons around."

"Oh, I prefer to drink milk, thank you."

"You went through all the effort of finding me backstage. Now you have to drink what I drink."

Landa reluctantly accepted the offer, mainly because he was a curious man by nature, but also because the man offering it to him was ridiculously good looking. "Hm. Very well. Do you mind at all if I smoke, to enjoy the drink with it?" Landa asked.

"Go ahead."

Landa lit up a German cigarette, offering one to Marilyn, who declined. Then Landa takes a sip, and marvels at how strong the drink is. Odd flavours dance across his taste buds, and he feels his head begin to swim almost immediately.

"It's different from being drunk," Marilyn commented, cutting through the haze as he took the generous sip of a seasoned drinker, "It's like you can lose your body, but not your mind."

"I see what you mean," Landa nodded, rubbing his chest, "Exquisite taste, however. I’ve never experienced anything quite like it."

Marilyn took another sip. "It's alright. You can say it tastes like herbal acid. It only tastes good when it's pretty much all you drink." He gestured to himself. Hans chuckled, set his drink aside, and carefully cleared some makeup off of a stool. "Eh, may I sit down?" The performer nodded, and stared for a second at the curiously benevolent officer.

"…You don't care that I'm a man, huh?"

Hans mulled this over. "I will not lie, it did surprise me. But then, why should I care?" he shrugged, straightening out his uniform, "You put on a beautiful performance, and you are a beautiful person. There is no reason to shy away from that fact."

"You liked the show?" Marilyn asked, not immune to a little praise.

"It was magnificent. You took my breath away." The man didn’t let the officer see his smile-- he turned away to finish taking down his other stocking.

"I only ask, cause... a lot of men like you see my show, get all hot and bothered, come back here like you did expecting a nice happy ending, then they blame me for seducing them when they find out I'm not the pretty little German woman of their dreams. Makeup only covers up so many black eyes, so I've started warning people before they, uh... bunch up my skirt."

His smile was joking, but his eyes conveyed a weariness only someone as sharp as Hans could detect.

"I'm not complaining, but… why do you continue to perform then?" the German asked softly. "Your performance is art, and so are you. You should be treated as such."

"Yeah, well contrary to popular belief, I don't perform to fuck people," Marilyn said, an undertone of sarcasm present, "I actually do enjoy the art of getting up onstage and putting on a show that'll get people talking. Make people think about how they respond to my art. Fucking attractive people is just a bonus." He undid his corset in front of the mirror.

"Here. Allow me to assist you," Landa said, and put out his cigarette before getting up. He was shorter than the performer, but their eyes still met in the mirror as Landa unlaced the contraption one whalebone hook by one, slowly, deliberately down his back. Shivers ran down Marilyn’s spine, the officer's gaze penetrating. Landa's finger grazed down Marilyn's back, down and up again to unlace the final hook.

A bubbly brunette strode in from the stage. She was the charming burlesque dancer who had gone on after Marilyn.

"You were fantastic," she said, leaning in. She was topless from her striptease—Hans admired the freedom of it all, a breath of fresh air from the stuffy officer’s life he led. It was like being in a whole different world, the exciting underbelly of the artist’s hideout. She and Marilyn shared a European kiss on both cheeks, and she tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. He smiled.

"So were you, Dita."

"Gotta run, honey. I see you're indisposed, anyway." She shot off a wink, waving playfully at Hans, and hurried off to her own dressing room, breasts bouncing with every poised step.

"She is charming," Landa commented, shaking his head. "She is American too?" Manson looked back to him, suspicious of the question. He didn't give a fuck about himself, but when it came to the people close to him... Landa smirked. "I am not in the business of turning over American burlesque dancers to the Fuhrer. I am simply curious."

For whatever reason, Manson believed him.

"Dita and I came here to Berlin from Los Angeles to perform. We brought along a couple others to support our shows. We felt like we belonged here more than we did there, with all the uptight, patriotic isolationist nonsense in America." He changed the subject. "You wanna give me your name too, or is that breaching German military code?"

"Colonel Hans Landa, of the SS."

"Colonel," Marilyn nodded, "I'm impressed." He did not seem impressed. Landa gave him a look of amusement.

"Would you rather I be a general?"

Manson sighs, sucking in his cheekbones and powdering his face with a large fluffy powder puff. "I'd rather you be pulling my hair and shouting whatever the f word is in German repeatedly, but wishful thinking gets me nowhere. Especially not with some SS colonel who had the audacity to drop into my boudoir." Landa raised his eyebrows. Watching the performer's graceful limbs and trailing his gaze down to admire the black lace contrasting against Marilyn's backside, Landa started to work the night out in his mind, examining how this could look from all angles. In order to keep his credibility (and his reputation) he'd need to think up an elaborate story that would get the both of them to a spot safe to carry out any fantasies that begged to be indulged. He had to convince Marilyn of it too—he couldn’t risk any slip ups.

"I have the authority to go anywhere I like in this country," he said, smile still on his face but quickly contorting into something ominous, "I hope you know that, my pretty American." Marilyn hesitated, picking up on the sudden shift in the mood, but thought nothing of it as he continued to undress. "I must confess, I have not been entirely truthful with you tonight," Hans went on, folding his hands in his lap. Marilyn tucked his hair behind his ears, inspecting his reflection.

"No? You gonna tell me you're a woman?"

Despite himself, Landa chuckled. "That situation would make for a good stage play, would it not?" His smile slowly ebbed away, as he replaced it with a cold gaze of sinister intent. "Do you know what they call me?"

"I can't say that I do."

"They call me the Jew Hunter."

"I'm not Jewish."

"No. But you are American. An allied country, and an enemy of the state. What you have told me here tonight, and the simple fact of you being a crossdresser by profession, gives me the authority to take you and keep you in holding until your identity has been confirmed by the embassy of the United States of America." At this, Marilyn turned around sharply, dropping his red lipstick with a clatter. "Ah," Landa put up a hand, "There's nowhere for you to go but with me, unless you wish to be shot down like a dog in the street."

Marilyn tried to escape anyway, dodging past him in an attempt to warn the others. Landa however, was too fast. He grabbed the taller by the bicep, and dragged him in with strength unbefitting of a man of his physicality.

"If you run or make any noise at all, I will have the lovely Miss Von Teese kept here as not only a prisoner of war, but a comfort girl. How would she like to strip for the Fuhrer? Hm?"

Manson ripped his arm away as he realized there was no way out of this, snarling. "Fuckin' bastard."

Landa's mouth twitched up. "If you'll be a good boy and cooperate, we can do this the easy way, without a scene." He leaned in. "Remember. What is it you said on stage? Be obscene... not heard."

Marilyn resisted the urge to growl again, and let Landa lead him out from backstage. Dita was busy in her own area, and none of the other performers took his departure on a stranger’s arm as particularly out of the ordinary. Tim Sköld, a Swedish man Marilyn had met in America who had followed his company out here, watched after him lazily, grazing the arm of one of the Siamese twins who was currently staining kisses all over his face.

“There he goes again,” Tim murmured, and took one of her fingers into his mouth.

Landa approached his men again, who were now about three drinks in and having a good old time at the table.

"Ah, Landa!" Orlock laughed, red in his puffy face from too much schnapps, "Da sind Sie ja wieder! Sie haben es verpasst-- Schmidt, der verdammte Narr, hat die Bardame zum Wetttrinken herausgefordert. Hat gesagt, wenn sie verliert, dann zeigt sie ihm ihre großen Brüste! Natürlich hat er--” (Rejoined us at long last! You missed it-- Schmidt, the damned fool, challenged the pretty barmaid to a drinking contest, said if she lost, she'd have to show her big tits! Of course he--)

"Wer ist das, Landa?” (Who is this, Landa?) Von Wolff asked, cutting in with a stern glare.

"Don't you recognize our costumed friend?" Landa asked in English. Marilyn looked up with a sneer, and the other men noticed his lipstick, his clip on earrings, and the sultry shadowed eyes all three of them were unabashedly admiring an hour ago.

"Sie war ein Mann?!” (She was a man?!) Von Wolff growled, “Schmidt, du Narr! Du hast uns in einen entarteten Club gebracht!” (Schmidt, you fool! You brought us to a degenerate club!) Schmidt looked notably sheepish, which made Landa question why he hadn’t clued into the young lieutenant’s predilections sooner; no matter now. Lt. Orlock got up, fist at the ready. Marilyn for his part, didn’t shy away.

"Yeah? You wanna fight me, you pieces of shit?" he blurted, breaking free of Landa's grasp for a moment, "Come on. Come on! Why don’t you teach me what it's like to be a man?!" Landa put a stop to Marilyn's antagonistic behavior by grabbing his arm again, tighter this time.

"And the queer is American," Von Wolff mentioned in English, giving Marilyn the dirtiest look.

“That’s me, everyone’s favorite American slut,” Marilyn sighed. Orlock threatened to punch him again, so Marilyn spat in his face. This had the same effect as waving a red flag in front of a bull.

“Ah ah,” Von Wolff growled, holding Orlock back. “He will get what he deserves behind bars, Lieutenant. He is a person of interest, especially having broken the law in such a… repulsive, lewd manner.”

“I think it’s repulsive and lewd how you’re gonna jerk off later thinking of my ass,” Marilyn mouthed off, and Landa yanked his arm roughly in warning.

"No doubt he is of interest to us," Landa nodded slightly, "I could tell instantly the moment he stepped onstage."

"Bullshit," Marilyn snapped, and that finally earned him a hard slap across the face from Landa. The colonel kept his expression hard, but cringed a little inwardly. He didn't mean to hit the younger man that hard. Marilyn though, shut his mouth, the sting of the slap sending a wave of arousal through him. Perfect. Now he had an inappropriate erection to deal with in his lacy little panties, on top of being taken to see goddamn Adolf Hitler over a little drag performance. Let's go to Germany, Dita said. It'll be fun, she said.

“Und wieder einmal,” (Once again) Von Wolff said, bowing his head, “Ihr Talent Dinge zu erkennen sucht seinesgleichen, Herr Oberst Landa. Ich werde ihnen versichern dass in weniger als fünf Minuten ein Wagen bereit steht und sich um dieses Schwein kümmert.” (Your talents of detection are unmatched, Herr Colonel Landa. I will ensure an automobile for you in less than five minutes to take care of this swine.)

Landa nodded, and escorted Marilyn outside. He kept a firm grip on the performer's arm, and prompted him to get into the car first. Landa then closed the door, keeping his expression calm. They were driven to Landa's private residence in the automobile, the place where he conducted some of his higher profile interrogations.

On his side of the car, Marilyn was mentally kicking himself over being so goddamn naïve. Years of experience, and he still hadn’t learned that not every man or woman that throws a compliment or two his way and seems like the sweetest thing to walk the earth was trustworthy. Maybe he had had too many unrequited affairs—unrequited in the end, that is. He gave affection-starved a whole new meaning… but affection wasn’t all he wanted in this case. Being this close to the Colonel was warming him up... he recalled the gaze he met in the mirror, what was behind it. It was as if the Colonel had been undressing him with his eyes. Could that really have all been an act after all to lure him in? If so, this Landa guy was very good at what he did.

“So. You believe in your cause here?”

“I thought you didn’t like to get political.”

“Well I just figured, before you kill me, I wanna know that it means something to you.”

Landa looked out the window of the car. “I am a part of this organization by uniform only. I am an opportunist. Not a fascist slave.”

“Huh. You sound more like an American than I do.”

The decoration of the old mansion was ornate, beautiful, and Marilyn tried not to get too distracted by it all. At last, Landa followed him in and shut the front door, the two protected by the privacy of his own home. "You can rest easy. I am not holding you prisoner, or murdering you."

"Then why the fuck did you kidnap me?!" Marilyn demanded, rubbing his arm where Landa had had it in a death grip.

"Don’t be so dramatic. I did not kidnap you, I merely removed you from our primary location.  Do not forget, I still have jurisdiction in this region to select anyone whom I deem to be an enemy of the state in hiding, to question them and to kill them at my bidding."

Marilyn huffed. "You really want to kill me?"

"No. I do not want to kill you."

“Nah, you wanna fuck me first.”

“Will you learn to speak with better etiquette?”

“Just because I say fuck, doesn’t mean I don’t have better etiquette than you. You’re actually the first man I’ve met in a long time I can carry on an intelligent conversation with.”

Hans considers this. “Your intellect is prominent, I will admit.”

“The only difference between you and me is a little lipstick, and the fact that I say what I mean.” Marilyn strutted in to tug Hans’ tie. “I’d like to get my lipstick all over you, though.”

Hans tugged his tie loose, swallowing. “Red was never my colour.”

“It will be tonight.”

“Scheisse…”

Marilyn looked down and inspected his nails. "Anyway. I don't know why your friends were all so shocked to see I was a man," he muttered, "You military guys might wanna check the part of town they’re spending your evenings in next time you go out and decide to have a good time kidnapping performers for the glory of the state."

“Watch your tongue.”

“You watch my tongue, it’ll be all over your body in a second.”

Hans got pinker in the face. "I've told you, this is not kidnapping, and that was all a show that was necessary to move locations," he sighed, locking his door.

"You couldn't have just fucked me there, in my dressing room?"

"Of course not, it was an open dressing room, there was no door! I will not risk my reputation for that, good god."

"Awww... I'm not worth it?" Marilyn asked, and Landa clenched his jaw.

"Do not push your luck."

"I've already done that, Herr Colonel."

Landa was affected the name, and melted into the touch as Marilyn started to undo his pants, getting between his legs. The same fantasies from earlier swirled in Landa's head, imagining the taller man’s red lips closing around his cock. This fantasy would evidently come true. Marilyn dropped to his knees, and finally got him out of his pants. His false eyelashes blinked up, and he gave the head a kitten lick, before obscenely taking the whole thing to the back of his throat.

"Oh, meine liebe, you have a talent..."

"Keep talking."

He went back down on Hans, his tongue working magic on the Colonel. Hans admired him. "Look at how beautiful you are... you are gorgeous."

"If I run my mouth about it, I gotta have the goods to back it up." Marilyn grinned and hollowed out his cheeks, moaning a little and getting off on being used. “Slap me?”

“For what?”

“I like it. Like you did earlier, slap me in the face while you’re face fucking me.” Landa bit his lip, and Marilyn looked up, fire burning in those mismatched eyes. “Did I stutter? Now!” The slap was sharp, and echoed in the large house. Marilyn went even faster on Landa’s dick, his pale cheek immediately taking on the pink imprint of Landa’s hand. “Again.”

Another slap hit him, and Marilyn licked back to Landa’s balls, grazing his perineum and making the German hiss. After a second, he started to feel Landa throb, and popped off, standing up. Marilyn put a slender hand on his arm. He then leaned in, and connected their lips in a chaste kiss, gently working a little deeper until Landa's mouth was open and gasping. Marilyn pulled back, smirking down at him. "My lipstick looks good on you after all."

Landa ran his tongue along his bottom lip, and felt his cock throb. He didn’t want to ask it...

"What's on your mind?" Marilyn asked, voice soft and smooth as the green velvet cabriole he was lowering Hans onto. "Never slept with a man?"

"No," Landa said, "I have." They continued to kiss heatedly, and Marilyn wandered his hand down between the two, pressing on Landa's erection. When he snapped his hips down in a purely instinctual thrust, Landa dropped his head back, mouth falling open.

"You want me inside you," Marilyn realized, trailing his fingers down Landa's heaving chest. "Don't you? Hm? You wanna feel my big cock pounding your ass, don't you, you dirty motherfucker?"

"Ah, scheisse," Landa muttered again, and reached down to touch his aching erection. Marilyn slapped his hand away, and replaced it with his own.    

"Nuh uh. That’s all mine." Marilyn stood, smirking. “This what you want?” Hans lay back against the couch cushions, eyes hooded as Marilyn snapped the fabric of his panties against that porcelain skin. “You want this cock, pretty boy?” He teased his thinly veiled erection in Landa’s face, rubbing himself slowly through the black lace. Landa wanted to reach out and touch it, but Marilyn danced his hips away every time he did. “Is this what you want me to do to you…?” Marilyn turned, as if giving Landa his own private strip show, and slid two fingers between his asscheeks, moaning a little as he played with his entrance for a second. “You want me to play with your hole like this, Herr Colonel? You want me to---ohhh--- touch you like this, fuck you like this?”

Landa could barely breathe. The sound of the taller man’s voice alone did things to him that no other had before. Marilyn turned back around to lightly bump his cock against the German man’s face, grinding it so close to his lips, daring him to try and touch. When the performer was good and satisfied with how well he had trained Landa, he smugly relented, crawling back between his legs.

Landa watched the man on top of him, watched his long lashes blink, his crimson lips part to make way for his tongue to swipe. He really was beautiful.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Marilyn whispered against his skin as he leaned in again, echoing Landa's unspoken sentiments, "I'm gonna wreck this body so hard." Landa let out a strangled moan, and Marilyn looked around. "Please say you have something I can lube up with. I have two morals. One, never make music that confuses strippers like me, and two, never go into a guy dry—the blood is impossible to get out of lingerie."

"The oil is over there."

"Mm." He grabbed the oil, and started to gently prepare Landa, watching him writhe. "You finger yourself often, Colonel? You get the girls you bring back here to fuck you with their fingers? Big strap-ons? Do they go running their mouths all over the place, telling everyone how Hans Landa the cockslut likes taking it up the ass?"

Landa couldn’t respond... he could only clench his jaw. Marilyn jerked his cock a few times, and used the oil to cover himself generously. He then turned Landa over onto his stomach, giving his ass a good smack before sinking into him.

"Take this dick, Landa," Marilyn growled, "You're a powerful man out there. But in here you're my little bitch, aren't you?"

"Oh," Landa moaned. He was already approaching his orgasm, golden hair matted to his forehead and lips pink and stained.

"Close already? Huh? Imagine if you were fucking me. Hm? You'd leave me hard, wouldn't you? You'd just cum in my ass right now, wouldn’t you?"

"I- I can't..."

"Useless. You're fucking pathetic, you can't even last five minutes."

Landa gasped, trying to contain his moans. He never mentioned anything about humiliation being something he was aroused by in bed, but Marilyn was right—intuition is a part of being good at this, and Marilyn was good at this.

“I’m…” Landa couldn’t finish his sentence. He stifled his next groan in his arm, breath hitching.

"Nah ah. I want you to moan like every bit of the slut you are. COME ON, let me heat it! I want all of Germany to know it.” Marilyn’s voice rose until he was practically screaming himself hoarse, tugging Landa’s hair back roughly. “I want the whole fucking world to know it, goddamnit, let me hear you!"  

"Scheisse, scheisse, bitte!" Landa cried, feeling himself tip over the edge. With his brutal pace, the performer hit his prostate, and Hans finally came in Marilyn’s fist. Marilyn waited for him to finish, then pulled out, jerking off onto him with his fist a blur. Hans felt Marilyn's cum paint his back, and bit his fist. The performer then sat back on his heels, wiping his brow.

"All you military men have great asses."

Landa, regaining his usual confidence with his breath, scoffs at this. "And how would you know this beyond your experience with me?"

Marilyn gave him a look. "Dita, Tim and I have done nothing but drink and sleep our way around Berlin for the past few months. We have enough experience.”

Landa sat up, doing his shirt buttons up to his lower chest. "I thought you said all the other officers would beat you for 'seducing' them."

"Doesn't mean I can't look at their backsides after they beat me."

Landa shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "You really are something, Marilyn... eh, what was your last name?"

"That will remain a mystery. I’m not giving you any more than you need to know after... all that."

"It was a happy ending for the both of us," Landa protested.

"Sure, after a big fucking hassle. I don't even know if it was worth it."

"Remember," Landa growled, "I can still have you arrested if I choose to."  

"Right," Marilyn whispered, sauntering over to him to help him do up the rest of his buttons, "While you’re feeling like a big man again, let's not forget who made you moan like the little whore your men think I am ten minutes ago." He kissed Landa's cheek tenderly, grazed his hand down to give the German's clothed cock a pat, and smirked as he walked off to Landa's bar in search of more absinthe.

“Well,” the Colonel sighed, smoothing his hair back to a respectable style, “What is that American expression? You can’t judge a book by its cover.”

Das Haus Des Gold would most likely be his nightclub of choice from now on... but next time, Landa would be sure to attend alone for, perhaps, a more private show.

[eddie-boii]

Never Let You Go (part 9/14)

Fic info: Both Eddie and Stan live because I do what I want. Multichapter.

Rating: Teen and up (may change). Language.

Pairings: Reddie, Benverly.

Ao3 link: here

Summary: The Losers prepare for a wedding. Here’s some fluff before the wedding happens. In this house, we love and appreciate Audra and Patty.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

*

Richie awoke to a pillow slapping his head and a pleasant greeting of “Wake up, fuck-face!”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Richie groaned, rolling over in bed and burying his face deeper into his warm pillow so as to ignore the tiny hypochondriac man currently trying to force him out of bed. A brief glance at the window told him it had snowed overnight, and he’d much rather stay in his cosy bed than venture out there.

“Come on, asshole, today’s the big day!” Eddie said, pulling the sheets off of Richie magician-style before immediately releasing a sound not-unlike one of those rubber chicken dogs toys and clapping his hands over his eyes. “Where the fuck are your clothes?!”

“Why the fuck would I wear clothes when I was supposed to be sleeping alone?!” Richie said, finally dragging himself out of bed to slip on a dressing gown and smirking slightly at Eddie’s red face. 

“Are you decent yet?”

“Morally?” said Richie. “Hard to say.”

“Do you have clothes on, dipshit?”

Richie rolled his eyes. “Yes, Eduardo, you can look again without gagging.”

“Why would I gag?” said Eddie, finally lowering his hands, and Richie swallowed the urge to make a blowjob joke.

“So what brings you here this morning, my dear spaghetti?”

Eddie scowled at the nickname. “Maybe because this is my fucking assigned room, jerk-off.” When Richie raised an eyebrow at him, he rolled his eyes. “Bev kicked me out and your presence is requested to help the bride prepare for her special day,” he explained, fluttering his fingers about sarcastically as though disgusted by the romantic notion of it all.

“Well why didn’t you just say, spaghetti-bear?” said Richie. “You mind giving me some privacy while I shower and get dressed first? Unless you wanna get all steamy with me?” he added with a wink, grinning when Eddie’s face flushed red once more even while he wore that adorable scowl.

“Whatever, asshole, I’m going to help Ben get ready.” He retrieved one of his many suitcases - the one containing his suit - and made his exit, leaving Richie to get ready for the day.

Nobody could say Richie didn’t make an effort to look nice; he’d had a haircut a few days ago, and now he actually shaved and put on deodorant after his shower before putting on his fanciest outfit: jeans and a tuxedo t-shirt.

“Don’t all fawn over me at once, ladies,” he declared as he flung open the door to Bev’s room to find Stan, Patty and Audra all fussing over Beverly’s hair and makeup.

“Nope,” said Stan, taking one look at him. “You are not wearing that, no fucking way.”

“Bev said I could wear whatever I wanted!” Richie protested as Beverly tried valiantly to hide her grimace.

Stan gave him a deadpan look. He walked over to a suitcase and pulled a suit bag from it, shoving into Richie’s arms. “Go change.”

“Why do you have this?” said Richie, frowning down at the bag. It was black and opaque so he couldn’t see what the garment it held looked like.

“Because I knew you’d try to pull some shit,” said Stanley. “Go. Change.”

“No offence, Staniel,” said Richie, eying Stan’s bird-patterned tie, “but I don’t trust your fashion taste.”

“I picked it especially for you,” said Stan, and shook his head when Richie looked even more apprehensive. “You’ll like it, trust me.”

Richie wasn’t convinced but went into the en suite to change anyway. As soon as he unzipped the bag, he grinned. He’d never doubt Stan again.

“Now you’ll really have to try not to fawn over me, ladies!” said Richie, grinning widely as he stepped back out of the bathroom all decked out in a suit, except this one wasn’t boring and black like all the ones he had to wear to red carpet events that he hated so much; this one was colourful and patterned with bright flowers all over, not unlike his favourite Hawaiian shirts. The shirt underneath was black, but Richie didn’t care as it made sure the whole look wasn’t too over-the-top. He looked pretty hot if he did say so himself. “You really outdid yourself, Stan-the-man!” he said, pulling Stan into a tight hug.

“You’re welcome, Trashmouth,” Stan laughed. “Patty helped me pick it out,” he added, and Richie gave Patty a big hug too, momentarily distracting her from doing up Bev’s hair.

“You actually look really handsome,” said Bev, looking him up and down.

“You sound surprised,” said Richie, feigning offence.

“More handsome than usual,” Bev rectified. “That nightmare outfit actually suits you.”

“It does scream Richie, doesn’t it?” said Stan.

“Alright, I think we’re done here, hon,” said Audra as she made a final sweep of blusher across Bev’s cheekbone. “You want any makeup doing, Richie?”

Richie blinked at her, momentarily caught off guard. He joked about that sort of thing a lot - a way to detract attention from the fact that he really was a huge ‘fairy’ like his school bullies always said - but Audra seemed completely serious. Richie hadn’t really considered actually indulging in feminine things now that he was out and proud without making it a joke.

“Uh,” he said, “what kind of makeup?”

Audra tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I reckon you’d look really hot with some eyeliner and painted nails.”

“Careful you don’t make Eddie have a fit,” Stan murmured, and Bev snorted as Richie shot them both a glare.

Audra didn’t seem to hear as she was too busy retrieving a bag containing about a hundred little bottles of nail varnish. “Wanna pick a colour?” she said, passing Richie the bag.

Richie perched on the edge of the bed and shuffled through all the bottles, marvelling at just how many colours there were. He contemplated picking a pink that matched some of the flowers on his suit, but decided to play it safe and pulled out a plain black instead.

Audra took the bottle off him and sat beside him on the bed, pulling his hand into her lap. She filed down the jagged edges first - courtesy of a nail-biting habit Richie had never managed to get rid of despite his mother’s wishes - then opened the bottle carefully. Richie stayed perfectly still, watching the little brush sweep over his nails one by one.

“Wow, you actually got Richie to shut up and stay still,” said Stan. “We should’ve made you an honorary Loser sooner.”

Richie flipped him off with his free hand but was careful not to move the one Audra was working on.

“It’s part of my charm,” Audra said simply, not looking up from what she was doing.

“All done, Bev!” said Patty from across the room, and Richie looked up to see the finished result of Bev’s makeover. 

Her makeup was done to perfection thanks to Audra and her movie-star expertise; her eyeshadow blended expertly across her lids and the colour bringing out the green in her eyes, her eyeliner perfectly neat and even on each side, her cheekbones highlighted expertly and her lips painted a pretty pink. And her hair was flawless, pulled back in a loose bun bordered by a braid that had been woven around little silver flowers, wavy strands of amber locks falling free to frame her face.

“You look gorgeous, Bev,” said Richie.

“Thanks, sweetie,” said Bev, smiling at her reflection in the mirror. “And thank you, girls, you did amazing.”

“You’re welcome, honey,” said Patty, smiling softly. “You make such a beautiful bride.”

“Yeah, I’m only, like, ninety per cent jealous right now,” said Audra and Bev laughed. “Alright, handsome, don’t touch anything while that dries,” she said to Richie as she finished painting the last nail. “Now, let me see what I can do about eyeliner.”

“Ooh, I think your hair might be long enough to braid,” said Patty, coming over. “Can I?”

“Suddenly I’m eight again and acting like a doll for my sister and her stupid friends,” said Richie, but he didn’t protest as Patty grabbed a brush and some hair ties.

“You love it,” said Bev and Richie just stuck his tongue out at her.

Stan had to run off to take a phone call before Richie’s makeover was complete. He stood in front of the mirror admiring Patty and Audra’s handy work. Thankfully, Patty hadn’t gone too overboard with the braiding, and Richie didn’t match a certain photo his mom had on her fridge depicting him with about twenty bunches and bows in his hair and glittery eyeshadow all over his face. This look was far more subtle.

“You look like a Viking-emo-hippy,” said Bev. “It shouldn’t work but it does.”

“I look hot as fuck,” said Richie humbly.

“Twenty-bucks says Eddie pops a boner,” Bev whispered not-so-subtly to Audra.

“You’re on.”

“Will you please stop with the fucking bets,” said Richie. “Or at least let me in on them, I bet I could make big money.”

“You wish, sunshine,” said Bev.

Stan reentered the room a moment later, a frown creasing his face. It must have been serious because he didn’t even look twice at Richie’s makeover.

“Uh, Beverly, don’t freak out, but we have a problem.”

“Oh no,” said Bev, paling instantly. “What is it?”

“There’s been a lot of snow overnight and the minister can’t make it,” said Stan.

Beverly stared at him. “What?” she cried, her voice cracking with panic as she grasped Richie’s arm for support and Patty rubbed her back comfortingly. “We can’t have a wedding without a minister!”

“Bev, it’s going to be fine,” said Stan, holding out his hands giving her a calming look. “I can perform the wedding, my father made sure I was ordained.”

“But we’re not Jewish,” said Bev, still far from calm. “Can you still do it? Is that going to be a problem?”

“I’m not a Rabbi, it’ll be fine,” said Stan and Beverly gave a great sigh of relief before rushing into his arms and giving him a tight hug.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said emphatically before pulling away so as not to smudge her makeup. “Oh no, but who will walk down the aisle with Mike?”

“Don’t worry, babe,” said Richie. “Your man has two hands.”

“God, this wedding is just getting further and further away from traditional,” sighed Bev.

“Did you expect anything less?” said Stan.

“Good point.”

“You better get going, babe,” said Audra after checking her watch. “You don’t wanna be late.”

“We’ll see you at the second ceremony,” said Patty. She hugged Bev then gave Stan a quick peck on the lips. “Good luck.”

“You’ll be fine,” said Audra, giving Bev’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “That is one good-looking hunk you’ve snagged yourself.”

“And so respectful,” sighed Patty dreamily.

“I’m standing right here,” said Stan.

Patty soft smile turned into a grin, her eyes glinting mischievously. “No one can beat my man’s sweet little behind,” she replied, reaching her arms around her husband. He yelped suddenly, his face turning red, and Richie realised she’d pinched his ass. He couldn’t blame her.

He gasped dramatically. “You married a girl with a wild side, Stanley!”

Stan shot him a glare but Patty winked at him.

“Oh, he’s got wild side too.”

“Patty!” Stan squawked, and Patty giggled, reaching up to kiss his nose.

”See you later,” she said, then she linked her arm with Audra’s and the two made their way out of the room.

Stanley was still blushing and Richie nudged him playfully. “Man, I really wish I’d been at your wedding.”

Stan rolled his eyes at him but then looked at the ground, his smile falling slightly. “Me too,” he said softly.

Beverly moved forward and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “We’re all together for this wedding at least.”

“Yeah,” said Stan, looking up at her and smiling. “You ready?”

Bev returned his smile a little shakily, wringing her hands together. “As I’ll ever be,” she replied.

They all bundled into thick winter coats, obscuring most of their outfits for the time being.

“We’re really doing this outside?” said Richie, eying the garden through the frost-flecked window which had become a winter wonderland overnight.

“For the aesthetic,” said Bev, giving him puppy-dog eyes. “And for me.”

“Ugh, fine,” said Richie.

“Shouldn’t take long,” said Stan. “Then we’ve got the second ceremony inside where its warm.

“Can’t wait,” said Richie. “This better be fucking spectacular in the meantime.”

“I hope so,” said Bev. She stepped between them and took their hands. Richie squeezed her hand and she squeezed back, smiling up at him, nervous but… Excited. Really excited.

“You’re about to marry Ben,” Richie whispered, and Beverly nodded, unable to speak, but her eyes were bright and glistening.

The words still didn’t feel quite real. Everything that had happened, everything they’d been through, and here they were. Alive. Two of his best friends in the world getting married. Only a year ago, weddings to him were just boring events he attended for the benefit of the press. Just turn up, smile, eat the free cake and leave. But he hadn’t had real friends back then, or at least, he hadn’t remembered them. He’d spent twenty-seven years with a pit in his chest he couldn’t seem to fill and no idea how it had gotten there. But now, standing here holding Beverly’s hand with Stan, preparing to go meet the others, he felt whole again. Finally. He may not have remembered the Losers for those twenty-seven years, but he’d missed them so much more than they could ever know. They were more than just friends to him; they were soulmates, all of them. Their absence had left a huge gap in his life, but now they were back, and he was never letting them go.

Beverly sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She squeezed the hands of both the men either side of her tightly, drew her shoulder’s back, and they all turned as one to face the door. 

“Ok,” she said. “I’m ready.” 

Richie smiled down at her. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s go get you married.”

*

Previous Next

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 34 EPILOGUE (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: Here we are at the end. I keep imagining myself four months ago, on the edge of all of this--a completely different self, one that was so deeply discontent with everything in her life, unable to confront it all. I wonder what I would have said if you told me that soon not only would I have written a book, I’d have broken up with my partner of almost 8 years, changed my diet utterly, and tested the limits of my endurance for a broken heart. WELL, SELF, HERE WE ARE, ON THE EDGE OF OBLIVION. I’ve charged through all of it, and now I’m floating in the ether, unsure of where my path is going to lead next. To say I’m terrified is an understatement; but mostly I’m just drifting inside all of this, trying to take it an hour at a time. BODY AND SOUL was, and is, and always will be, about the bond between two luminous souls that cannot be broken by anyone or anything--a bond that is capable of changing the fabric of time with its strength and endurance. Love is everything. Love is the gold that you see in dappled sunlight and in the coolness of the evening and the sunset that floats down a horizon; it’s in the touch of hands, the quiet moments of stillness when you’re alone (yes, it’s there too), the earnest eyes of another heart seeing into yours. In the end, the love we give will always determine the love we’re capable of receiving--and if we can both take the love we’re given and give of ourselves with abandon, we’ve found the secret to life. My sincerest thanks to anyone and everyone who has supported this journey for me here on Tumblr specifically, but especially to these luminous beings: @misslunarayne, who has now become one of my dearest friends and closest confidantes, @ladywriter94 who has been my CONSTANT cheerleader and has sent me so many asks to rekindle my drive when my brain felt empty and my candle burned low, @surprisebitchwrites who was a ray of light from the beginning (and who coined Duckenzie--for which I am forever in her debt), @hi-ilovedamien who has been so earnest and attentive and made so many wonderful Instagram edits, @kahhlo who seemed to overcome her shyness along the way (hey baby doll), @deanfinite and @goddess-of-inferno who also felt moved to make edits, and last but certainly not least, @nat-de-lioncourt, who made the edit for my masterpost (the first one anyone did for my story), and was one of BODY AND SOUL’s most vocal supporters from Day 1. Without you, this story could never have been what it became. I’m indebted to all of you. Here, words fail me. I’m just so grateful.

When it comes to the garden house, it’s an idea most of all--I avoided too many details, because the garden house is what YOU want it to be. It’s my dream, but it’s your dream too. It’s the dream that comes to life when you open your heart to love and beauty. This is Kenzie’s dress in the painting. I made my AO3 (I’m @witchqueenofdarkness there too). Look for Part 1 there this week along with the BODY AND SOUL Spotify playlist (coming soon) and a masterpost that includes every BODY AND SOUL edit anyone has made for me. I’ll be seeing you.

EPILOGUE

ONE YEAR AFTER THE WEDDING

Kenzie was elbow-deep in her tomato plants. They were bursting with ripe fruits; tomatoes so large and red and perfectly formed they seemed unreal. All of her vegetables were growing that way; this was the first yield since the garden’s initial planting, and she still couldn’t quite believe how utterly spring and then summer had burst upon the house. There were a million flowers; the dahlias and lilies she and Duncan had planted together in March were blooming in lush rows along the south side of the greenhouse, stretching along its frosted glass facade. Beyond that, the house itself was surrounded by lavender and hydrangeas, towering sunflowers, yarrow and catnip, all growing with lush abandon, dazzling her eyes with their color under the shade of her straw sunhat.

We suspected this might happen, but we could have never imagined just how beautiful it would be. In this place, the laws of nature are greater. Held in the palm of Her hand, things grow endlessly. The Fates weave their endless tapestry through time and space; She creates and destroys, always.

Kenzie turned her head as she heard soft neighing behind her, the steady, slow sound of horseshoes on earth. Crocus was coming up to the fence, tossing his head at her. Whatcha doing? The soft drift of his low, large energy drifted across the yard to her; his tail flicked lazy flies from his hindquarters, silky cream in the June sunshine. Kenzie couldn’t quite hear the horse’s thoughts, but sometimes she felt like she could get small little pieces of his mood, tiny drifts of strange horsey contemplations; happy, she felt from him. Content. Kenzie stood, wiping the dark earth from her hands on the pair of old cut-off denim shorts she wore. She approached the post-rail fence, craning to look beyond Crocus for a moment to the field behind him.

“Where’re they, huh, honey-sweet?” She murmured, reaching two fingers to his damp nose. Crocus tossed his head; the braids in his mane slapped on his long neck. Beats me. Chasing dragonflies. Eating tidbits.

Kenzie stuck a finger in her lips, against her tongue, and whistled out into the low breeze. “Ivy! Pepper!” She whistled again, sending drifts of golden thought out beyond the hill the fence stretched around. She paused for a moment, hand drifting up Crocus’ long snout, then smiled as she heard the telltale sound of galloping horses; their two dark shapes drifted around the hillside and she grinned.

“Pepp, Ivy, come on over here, come on, come see me,” she chanted, hitching herself through the fence’s slats and carefully over the enclosure. Pepper made it first; his dark-chocolate coat shone in the haze of the afternoon, blindingly smooth, his flanks rippling. Black-eyed susans were woven into the darkness of his mane; Kenzie had spent hours with him yesterday, braiding them through. My sweet dark Pepper, she thought, turning an arm up to him; he pressed his long forehead into her hand and she cooed up at him. Ivy was tossing her head, eager for attention; her black coat was like a dark, reflectant pool, luxuriously smooth. She had tiny daisies in her mane; one of Kenzie’s favorite things to do this summer had been spending hours on their manes in the morning, hours with their quiet, huge spirits, the strong scent of them, their wide eyes, the overwhelming aura of them. My sweet Crocus, Pepper, Ivy. My beauties. She rode Crocus most often; Ivy had gravitated to Duncan from the start, eager to be near him, though he’d take Pepper out with Kenzie sometimes, beyond the field and through the woods to the far northwest of the property. Kenzie could often feel the presence of the Goddess in them; they were ever sweet and mild to her, far more inclined to be ill-behaved and mischievous toward Duncan. But I’m their beloved, Kenzie knew. Even they know who I am; who I was once. My sweet ones.

She turned away from them as she heard the screen door to the side of the garden house creak open; River stood there in a tulip-sleeve white summer dress with lemons printed on it, a floppy sun hat covering her straight black hair.

“Kenz, I got somemore paperwork from the court ordinance, I just need you to sign it when you get a chance. And Frederick called--he heard of some Waterhouse painting coming up for auction and wondered if you and Duncan would be interested in it.”

“Thanks, River, I’ll come in in a second, is that okay? Did they say anything about how Mr. Carothers is doing?”

“They said something about him doing well with the program, almost being done with it, I think. That was all, really.”

“That’s good. Can you call Frederick back and make an appointment for us with him next week? It’s a good excuse to visit him. I’d love to see the peacock again, anyway.”

“Sure, Kenz. I made some yerba mate iced tea a little while ago, if you want some.”

“Oo, that sounds lovely. I’ll be in soon, Riv.” Just giving my babies some love, she thought, and knew River understood without her needing to say it aloud. She turned back to Crocus and heard River swing the door shut; long, languid ivy was growing along that side of the house, dipping down through its stony facade, and the sight of it lingered in her mind as she stared into Crocus’ damp eyes. Her thoughts drifted to the court appearance several months ago; the time the man--his name was Jeremy Carothers, and he’d spiraled into deep alcoholism when he’d been fired from Shepherd Unlimited several years back--had broken into the Post building and accosted her seemed like ages ago, another life; revisiting it in the court room had been surreal. But as soon as she’d gotten to the court house that day, Kenzie had known she wouldn’t be pressing any charges; in fact, it had become clear to her that she wanted to pay for the man’s mental health services entirely. There’s no room for animosity in my heart, she thought. I am far too blessed. The point was always to share it with others. Always. The work the Foundation had been able to accomplish over the past two years was so extraordinary and moving; every major city in the United States was now implementing a solar program, and green house gas emissions, through the Foundation’s initiatives and new laws passed by the President with the help of Shepherd Unlimited and newly elected progressive candidates to public offices, were plummeting.

The world was changing.

Because of our love, Kenzie thought. Because of everything we’ve been able to do. Together. Spreading it far and wide and making it grow. Grow over everything. Touch everything with golden light.

Kenzie kissed her fingertips then pressed them to Crocus’ cool nose. The sun had become oppressively hot; she stepped towards the stable, beckoning to the horses.

“Come on, beauties, let’s get in the shade, shall we?” Ivy and Pepper eagerly followed Crocus, who was always the leader; he lumbered up lazily beside Kenzie as she made her way through the cool enclosure of the vaulted stable, carefully pushing the gates closed on each of the horses in turn, their paddocks side by side; a golden gate for Crocus, blue for Ivy, red for Pepper. She gathered their grain bags from the storage on the side-wall, pouring a cup full into each, attaching them to the hooks on inside walls of the three stalls; her eyes roved over the horses as they ate, pressing a fingernail against her mouth.

Miss you, baby, she thought out into the ether. Can’t wait for you to come home. Kenzie felt out with her mind; let her goldness drift through the stable doors, out and down to the beaten path that led in two directions, one to the house’s front gate (white-washed and covered in Zinnias this time of year), the other to the side greenhouse, its frosted, slanting rooftop glittering with sun; the double doors were open and she could almost smell the scent of the ginseng and ginger that were growing wildly within, her towering bamboo plants and pachira aquatica. She pushed her thoughts beyond; far, far beyond, out of the sphere of the property, beyond the forest that surrounded them, down the long roads and the highway to the city, where Duncan was working today. Come home, she thought. Come home and hold me, my love.

For a moment, she felt the drifting column of his blue energy falling against her, despite all the distance. Soon, beloved. Soon, my angel. On my way to you.

Kenzie trailed her fingers along each of the horses’ foreheads for a few moments; then she stepped outside of the stables, along the path towards the house; for a moment she took a detour through the greenhouse’s blown glass doorway, skirting under the canopies of ivy and through the palms that were growing with abandon now in the summer heat. My own little jungle, she thought, and not for the first time. She went on, past the daylilies, petunias and marigolds, bursting with color--here the backdoor led out to a little courtyard between the greenhouse and the main house, a fountain with the forms of Hades and Persephone in the center; Hades and Persephone, but made to look like us, Kenzie thought, gazing over it for a long moment as she passed through. It was Duncan’s face encased in stone there; and hers, hair falling back, petals drifting through its stony waves. His hands drifted at her arms, their faces turned up to each other. This stony Duncan wore an aegis; an aegis that had been carved in the likeness Duncan had described to the sculptor who created it. In the image of the one I saw in my dreams, he’d told her. The one I had in that other place, in that other time.

Kenzie went on into the house, sighing with relief from the heat. Here in the back hallway, there was no sound but the cool drift of a grandfather clock; in its face were the moon, sun and stars, and the likenesses of three women, one young, one of middle age, and one ancient; between them drifted gossamer threads in shining gold and blue. The triple-faced goddess. Her. And Time, which she created after we’d found our love; after we were the first true Soulmates. And now, everlasting.

Kenzie looked up as she heard soft music begin to drift down from the office at the end of the hall; River had put something on while she was working.

I’ll be seeing you, in all the old familiar places....that this heart of mine embraces...all day through...

The light was beginning to fall lower over the hall and the oaken staircase above the clock; evening was coming, and that meant Duncan would be home soon. Kenzie’s eyes drifted up to the end of the hallway beside the door to the office; a huge painting hung there, one that still took her breath away every time she saw it. It’s us, she thought, smiling, tears gathering in the corners of her vision. In the painting of them, commissioned over a year ago after their wedding, Duncan stood with his hand nestled gently at her shoulder; he wore a long black coat that dipped down over his chest at an angle, his curls on his forehead, his blue eyes piercing out towards the onlooker. Kenzie sat in a gold, gilded chair, her expression calm and discerning; the artist, who was known for his comparisons to Sargent, had painted her eyes with an ethereal golden glow, her honey-chestnut hair around her shoulders. Her dress was blush and rosy; flowers drifted through its tulle folds around her feet and the floor. Her hand was lifted around Duncan’s fingers, and her moonstone and diamond wedding band glinted there, painted to a lifelike perfection. The Young Royals, the artist had named it; anyone who beheld it regarded it with a sense of awe, often staring at it for a long while, seeming to lose themselves in their eyes, its calming aura.

In that small cafe, the park across the way…

Kenzie was reminded of taking Duncan to Emissary that morning two years ago; the softness of him as he pulled her against him on her constellation coverlet. She thought of how he’d kissed her with such abandon in front of One Franklin Square; in front of a crowd, and she smiled, blushing at the memory. We didn’t care at all.

I’ll be seeing you, in every lovely summer’s day, in everything that’s light and gay, I’ll always think of you that way…

The oak circle, she thought, clutching her hands around her waist--overcome, suddenly, in the drift of memory. That first time at the beach house. The Gala. That night at Le Diplomate, when my heart felt about to burst, his lips on my cheek. The first time I saw The Youth of Bacchus, the first time I saw him, in the roses, on that balcony. And I felt Her; I felt the hand of Fate. Rosemary. The knowledge of our destiny, our past, our future, our task. And we’ve begun to accomplish everything. Despite that other world, or our other selves, or our other fates in those other places; in this world we’re together, and we’ve accomplished wonders, and we’ll do more wonders still. It’s the love between us that did that. It’s the love between us that will go on and spread over this whole world--it’s love that heals everything.

She heard his footsteps on the pathway outside before she saw him; sensed him, drifting stormy blue. The door behind her opened; she turned and fell into Duncan’s arms, the jasmine and cedar of him causing the tears to fall from her eyes now, her mouth leaning up into his.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered into her lips. Here I am. Home with you.

I’ll find you in the morning sun, and when the night is new

I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you

The light continued to fade over the painting at the end of the hall; if Kenzie and Duncan had been paying attention to it, they would have noticed the glowing, ethereal quality of the eyes of their likenesses in it, the way the gold and blue of them seemed to shimmer and pulse as they often did in the evening; they would have noticed how ethereal, incomprehensible wings seemed to shimmer behind their likenesses, how their painted clothing seemed to shift into impossible geometries; but they were too mesmerized with each other, too wrapped up in each other’s arms; there was nothing in this moment but the two of them. As it ever was.

I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you

Evening came on the garden house.

[sidpah]

Mirage Part 1

Holding but one thing dear, I glance around taking in my last few particulars, storing up existence fodder for the next go round, when from a great cloud of sewer steam and taxi exhaust materializes an imposing mirage… Her feline grace bare, unclothed, riding a pale drift of clove smoke – A Devi creating, preserving, destroying, all without a single movement…

Drams of ambrosia pour from somewhere even higher than these sky-piercing glass-lingam rooftops to shower her swells of fallow lust; a thousand stunned countrymen are locked mid-commute, their destinations moments ago all-important, all-encompassing and now entirely forgotten… She runs a playful hand across hazy pink nipple and giggles – unaware of her growing horde of admirers.

It must be a sign! – A grainy photograph, an ad for perfume! An ad for the temptation of addiction – feeding our addiction to temptation… A pitchfork singeing the eye, loosed from flaming bow...

But how can I get down there? Even one Kaya into the great old celestial lightshow, I’m struck dumb by her limitless perfections laid bare… I feel blessed, even in this state of high-street marketplace confusion… I place a finger to open temple…

A resonant tone hums from every mouth that stands nearby, gaping without extending word of aid – Spiked rings of Sri Yantra surround each body like protective nets –

A car backfires, I wince, a thousand mandalas shatter into frantic ripples of panic – The ripples cascade upward where they shimmer the clouds and constellations – I lie, gaze anchored to the firmament, far above crumbling buildings into the same sky overlooking every city with a hum of migrating wings beating pulses in sync with my own… If I immerse myself in, all lines become phallic and all circles leak a tiny red dot upon white lace coverlet...

No mind can distinguish between fantasy and physicality, I once explained to a sullen stranger – I’m thinking of Olivia and I making love on a bridge over the unbridled current of a great blue-black ocean...

The Sun caroming, dispersed into a million glistening jewels of flame on the water’s crust, the reflected heat warming our bare skin... Images of our escapades flicker on brick storefronts… Sex in limousines, windows wide open spreading our screams like tails of red paint across the city – Mouth buried deep between her slick thighs in the bathroom of a snooty French restaurant; her bare ass on the ledge of a white marble sink, her fingers knotted in my hair grinding her pelvis in rhythm with the impatient knocking on the door – Fucking like feral cats in an alleyway, my back enmeshed with a pile of rancid black trash bags, empty cans rattle and clank…

“It’s so much better with rats scurrying round their ubiquitous shadowed homes,” this old alcohol-beaten professor used to tell all the girls, and all the gin-soaked sailors looking for an erotic word to get their pants off – Thrown into fits of the passion he could never find alone – Trash cans and bar bands singing a tune just for them… But I keep those images to myself. Instead, I’m jacking-off on this goddamn street corner to found photos of a lovely girl with hiked-skirt pressed flat against magazine gloss inches from my panting face… She’s lying on hardwood floor, smooth pink skin rolling beneath outlines of my dry chapped fingers… White shirt, mostly unbuttoned, tussled around sinuous midriff, musky perfume evaporates in heat ripples off the concrete – Heart pumps, stomach churns, sweat beads, cock ejaculates just as hard – My hands and her arched belly merge as spilt ink in gossamer waters – caressed by the other until both water and ink dissolve in a fresh creation naked and straddling an invisible lover’s neck…

 Oh, fated Ixion, I too must share your fiery revolving torment… It’s clear now; it is far too late for me to avoid the dim lights on this revolution… I’m too skittish and fearful to recognize my own transcendent radiance...

Oh, to be even a Once-Returner! A dream!

Likely I’ve hardly entered the Stream but with one shriveled big toe… So much delusion to put off and so few hours of consciousness before me… Again, a barbed pitchfork singeing the eye… loosed from flaming bow…

Mara, you gloriously cruel bastard! Withdraw your haggard daughters and remove your plague! You are powerless! Powerless! Your daughters are ugly and rotten; they are assembled and revolting. They stink like the putrefying meat from which they are cobbled! They’re dribbling from every orifice, thick pus, rancid milky fluids – They’re wrinkled and sprouting out patches of thick black fur sagging with dark moles and stretching elastic tattoos... Thinning hair grey and white, eroded cartilage, slipped vertebrae and plastic knee replacements… On walkers they hobble, in wheelchairs they wail high on Darvocet, delusional with dementia… Incontinent urine runs through their lacey silk panties while green shit leaks from cellulite cheeks. Their mouths full of black gums, rotting teeth and nagging, constant rancid nagging, demands of duty and mortification... All these visions of form are fleeting! One renegade sperm and a lifetime of attachment ensues... From her curdled ass straight to my mouth!

 My gods, my gods, not unlike the revolting hirsute nature of my own bacteria-riddled flesh… These are egoistical joys, ephemeral and self-serving… The most divine portraits and sculptures age even with their subjects frozen in their prime. I am not frozen, nor will I ever be, so I cannot maintain the brief roving lust for beauty… To be held like that doll... Cherished, nursed, protected by those slender arms and narrow chest. Huddled against breast warm and heaving – Smell of clean powders... Gripped like the clammy hand of a boy, cheeks flushed in a shy grin. Doesn’t want his friends to see them together, but can’t bear to let her run away... Pressed lips to my forehead with the gentle affection she shows her sleeping kitten – This honest sedentary love…

Her buoyant form, perfectly sacred – The inwardly curving small of back soft and precious – Her arm that hides a cheek’s milky blush – Slight shoulders of easy confidence – Thinly defined legs smooth and toned, down to moisturized feet and petite toes arrayed in green polish and summer sandals – Her unpainted countenance enchants me so I stare and then blush, myself nearly caught – Her defined feminine jaw, her chin, its dimple, its red line of contemplation – Large dark eyes framed by auburn hair thick and radiant – Her elfin ear, revealed by a sweep of her fingers, then gone...

When I take her hand in mine, hallelujah! Spring’s thaw at last! Sprouts of tender green – A buzzing bee takes flight – Thick taste of nectar… The fields reclaimed! – Tiny fingers swaddled in broken palm. Her fine downy arm pressed to my own, shoulder against shoulder – The weight of our bodies neutralized. Our footsteps in rhythm, triplets, with a small skip between repetitions. Giggling at the sparks cascading through our stomachs, once joined at the navel... Creatures of the gods are we tonight…

 But what magic do these gods possess? This magic is barren… This magic is equal parts Romance and Carnal Desire. Subtract Carnal Desire and leave Romance – you’re left with a weak watered down ideal of vague destiny like thin decaf coffee film on the roof of your mouth… Leave Lust and take away Romance –  at least the hot tingle from Svadisthana still functions wildly, burning, spinning, sending us running in inert circles bathed in cold sweat, craving the oozing pheromones of suitable mates, jacking-off in white shower stalls to memories of high shorts creeping up firm alabaster thighs, tiny glimpses of pink cotton exposed and magnified a thousand lurid times... This at least feels a little like magic because it outruns Reason. Reason annihilates Romance like a candle vanquishing the darkness of a small room. The word magic is derived from the Sanskrit maya, meaning illusion. Poof… Romance is Hollywood’s drug of choice. Romance is societal pressure to feel attractive and prove your desirability and worth. Romance is an archetypal myth.  Reason disposes of the mirage. Reason will not, however, brush even a single hair from Lust’s glistening brow…

Fingers embalmed together keep the spark of that romantic enchantment alive. Analysis douses the spark, suffocating it in a brilliant snuff of musty smoke…

 A booming voice resounds through my ears… Male? Female? I can’t discern anything anymore. Can anyone else hear it? What’s it matter if they could? It only matters to me right now. No one else… “At the bottom is the flesh on flesh act of sex which is, at best, boring, functional, mundane and even a bit embarrassing in its messy vulnerability. But grafted above it is the artificial skin of eroticism, which could be just as easily grafted over any structural artifice – food, music, sports, religion – all of the naughty nurse, sexy school girl fascination has little to do with sex, but with our own fabrication of an edifice of pleasure from which to hang our molten sorrows and crippling fear of all that we can never fathom…”

[80srichie]

collide

WHAT IS UP yALL

so i got this idea that derry was the upside down of hawinks and someone told me to write it, so here i am.

however, my wonderful co-writer and beta @richiewheeler helped me out A TON and she’s gonna be helping me write this whole fic so pls give her some love as well pls and thx

i hope you guys like it! we are SUPER DUPER proud of it 

without further ado, here is my stranger things/it crossover

summary: a stranger things/it crossover fic 

pairings: reddie def, and lots of others to be determined

words: 1991

Will Byers always had to ride his bike home at night, it seemed. Mike’s Dungeons and Dragons games managed to always run way longer than the group had anticipated, usually, 10 hours was a normal time frame for them. School nights always ruined the flow of it, sure, but Will’s team always won. Sometimes he wondered if Mike let them win, or, perhaps, it was just luck.

His older brother Jonathan was working a late shift, as was their mother, which was a common occurrence. He didn’t mind riding his bike so late, he’d gotten used to it. Nothing happened in Hawkins, so it was almost therapeutic. The sound of his bike wheels thumping against the pavement and crickets that chirped in the darkness.

Mirkwood, a street so familiar to him he could almost see it just as he would in the day, stretched in front of him. Since it was only a fall Sunday, there was no one there. He hummed to himself and looked through the woods of Hawkins Forest. He’s almost home.

Will looked back at the road, and saw a tall figure standing right in the middle of the street. Yelping, he slammed on his breaks, nearly falling off the front of his bike as he skids to a stop.

It was a clown, with wild red hair and a pristine costume. If it were Halloween, Will would’ve been impressed. But the autumn holiday was last month and this didn’t seem like a costume. It was too real as if the face paint wasn’t actually paint at all.

“Hey there, Will. Where are you off to?” The clown spoke, his words causing Will to physically shiver in fear.

His mother’s warnings of don’t talk to strangers rattled in his head, so he just swallowed and wanted to leave it there. But he had to know.

“How did you know my name?” Will asked, his voice sounding scared to his own ears. He wished he could be stronger about it, but he wasn’t.

“I’m a friend of your dad’s,” The clown said. “He tells me all about you, Will.”

He hated the way this guy said his name, and he knew his dad didn’t say many positive things about him. He changed the subject, “Why the clown outfit?” “Well, I’m Pennywise the Dancing Clown,” The Clown- Pennywise- said, grinning. In the light of the moon, his eyes shined bright and his teeth looked so sharp. “I was just at a party, and I thought I’d take Mirkwood home.”

Will smiled awkwardly a little, “We call this street Mirkwood too.” He didn’t know why he continued to talk to strange man in a clown costume. He almost felt compelled to stay.

“I know,” Pennywise said. Something in Will’s stomach twisted and his fingers clutched the handles of his bike until his knuckles went white.

“My mom’s expecting me home,” Will started to excuse himself, but Pennywise frowned. That frown sent a wave of discomfort through his small frame. A frown like that wasn’t normal. It was far too sinister, too off to be ordinary. The clown tilted his head a bit, his hair staying in the perfect “windblown” shape it had been in. That wasn’t normal either. His eyes, Will noticed, were a bright orange color. Number three on the ‘not normal’ list about this guy. One was lopsided as if he had a lazy eye. One concentrated on Will’s figure, the other looming off slightly to the right of him. Number four, check.

“Let me show you something first.” The clown spoke slowly as if he was trying to be friendlier, more convincing. Will felt as if he didn’t have much of a choice. The man blocked his way regardless, so he stayed put and kept his mouth shut.

The clown smiled once more. His face suddenly contorted, his head snapping to the side violently at a 90-degree angle. That’s when Will realized it was no longer a person. This thing wasn’t human, it never was, to begin with. Will watched in horror as this thing transformed into a large-scale version of the Demogorgon, one of the many pieces in Mike’s Dungeons and Dragons campaign from today. He was terrified, slowly backing up with his bike in a vain attempt to separate himself from this monster as much as he could. Will glanced around him quickly, seeing if he had a possible escape route. He didn’t.

When he glanced back at the monster, it started to advance. With no choice, Will threw his bike down and ran down the street, the thumps growing louder behind him. The last thing he heard was his own terrified scream before he hit the pavement and his vision clouded black.

In a town closer than they thought, Georgie Denbrough bounced beside his brother, Bill, as he made a paper sailboat as a storm crossed through Derry.

This was a tradition they had when it rained, seeing how fast one boat could go in the pouring rain. Georgie liked that even though Bill was sick, he was still gonna let him play. It wouldn’t be the same without him, but they both agreed that tradition was important. They couldn’t miss an opportunity.

“S-she’s all ready, Captain,” Bill said, coughing a little. Georgie nodded vibrantly and took the boat in his hands. Slightly sticky to the touch, he knew how much work his big brother put into it and made sure he handled ‘her’ carefully.

“D-don’t forget your g-galoshes,” Bill reminded as Georgie nearly raced out the door. “M-mom will k-kill you.”

Georgie made a face but nodded once more. When he ran down the stairs to the mudroom, he pulled on the dark green boots that chafed against his ankles.

He ran outside and Georgie turned, waving up to Bill’s window, showing off how well the boat was maintaining its structure in the downpour. Bill waved back at him, so he took that as his signal to start his boat’s journey. The static hum of the walkie-talkie in Georgie’s pocket made him smile, knowing Bill was sorta there with him.

“Be careful.” His brother’s voice crackled and Georgie was off. He placed the boat down near the street curb, watching with glee as it raced down the road following the direction of the water flow.

He tried being careful, he really did, but it was too easy for him to get distracted. Georgie wasn’t too surprised when he smacked into the orange sign, coincidentally at the perfect height to hit his head on. He didn’t want to lose the boat so he tried to keep up, but he cried out in horror as it fell down the sewer drain.

“Bill’s gonna kill me,” He moaned, disappointed in himself. He kneeled down and tried to see if it had caught on something. But instead of seeing the boat, he saw a kid.

Georgie yelped and fell backward, landing on his butt. Even to a little kid like himself, it was a little odd to see someone in a storm drain. The kid in the drain smiled meekly, holding up Georgie’s boat. He had brown hair, that was wet and flat due to the rain. His outfit consisted of a vest with a flannel underneath and a pair of jeans from what Georgie could see, but it was dark in the drain.

“Hey, Georgie, is it?” He asked, looking down at the paper boat. A drop of water landed on the ‘S. S. Georgie’ Bill had written on it, smearing the ink a bit.

Georgie nodded slowly, a little thrown off by his question but answered anyway. “Yeah, that’s me!”

The kid smiled. “Hey, I’m Will Byers. Nice to meet you.”

Georgie smiled back at him. “How did you get in there?” He asked, “Are you stuck?”

Will nodded solemnly, before his expression changed. If people got lightbulbs over their heads like in the cartoons, there would’ve been one above Will’s head. “If you help me out, I can give you your boat back! How does that sound? You can help a new pal out.”

The small Denbrough contemplated it for a second, before agreeing.

Will grinned. “Grab my hand.” He spoke, reaching his hand upwards towards the opening in the drain.

As Georgie reached down, Will’s face changed drastically. It contorted into something sinister, multiple rows of teeth baring in a mere instant.

His scream of agony could be heard all the way down the road but by the time anyone had checked, Georgie Denbrough was gone. The only evidence of that he was ever there was red water slowly flowing into the storm drain.

But no adult nearby saw it.

Will woke up with what he thought was the start of a migraine after the worst nightmare he’d ever experienced. A goddamn clown accosted him when he was just trying to get home. He just wanted to eat Jonathan’s breakfast and see his friends at school. He wanted to hug his mom and have her tell him the nightmare clown couldn’t get to him again until he believed her.

But instead of smelling pancakes and nearly burnt eggs, all it smelled like was like stagnant water and blood.

Will’s eyes snapped open, and all he saw was gray. He pushed up onto his palms and looked around.

He wasn’t in his room, safe in his bed under the covers and dry. Instead, he was in a wide, circular room covered in trash, soaking wet. How long was he asleep? Did he get knocked out?

Something dripped on his shoulder, and he looked up to see a trash pile that nearly skirted the tall ceiling. But more astonishingly, bodies floated. They floated around the room like limp rag dolls that Mike’s sister Holly played with. And they were all upside down.

A sound of squelching caused Will to look to his right, only to come face to face with the same clown that he saw on the street.

As if it wasn’t terrifying before, its clown face was now smothered in blood. It grinned, and the crimson-stained teeth looked even sharper than he remembered.

In its long, twisted fingers, it held an arm with a chunk taken out of it. In that quick glance, he could see blood and muscles and bone.

Will screamed and scrambled backward, a sharp pain in his side as his heart nearly beat out of his chest. How was this real? How was none of that a dream?

No. This is still a dream. This isn’t real, Will focused on convincing himself. He scrunched his eyes shut and dug his nails into his palms.

“Not real, Willie?” The clown’s scratchy voice said, sounding so close. But he refused to open his eyes. “Do you want to see a dream?”

He screamed and his eyes flung open. The clown grabbed him by the throat and leaned in close. Its breath was rancid like the trash that littered around them. It drooled blood and saliva all over him as he squirmed in a vain attempt to escape the clown’s death grip on him.

“I’ll show you a goddamn nightmare.”

so YEAH

i hope you guys liked that as we’d love to write a part dos

let us know how y’all feel about it!

masterlist

ask to be on taglist/feedback!

thank you so so much for reading <3

[nightglider124]

31 Days of Titans - Day 2: Doll

This one was a fun one. China dolls have always been a thing that have creeped me out since I was a child. Story Time! My sister used to have two shelves of these gorgeous china dolls but at night, when it was dark, it always looked like they were just staring at me.

So, what did young Night do? I smashed their faces in and told my sister to get rid of them. Not my finest moment but she wasn’t really a fan of the dolls either so it was okay. (They’d been gifts from our weird grandmother so y’know)

Anyway… time for the oneshot.

Day 2 - Doll

Cyborg hummed as he strolled through the common room doors, a tatty box in his arms.

The rest of his team were all sat upon the sofa; Starfire was reading a magazine with her head resting on Robin’s shoulder, who was half cuddling his girlfriend and also trying to watch the news.

Raven sat the opposite side, book in hand with Beast Boy perched in the space between her and Robin and Starfire, in the form of a kitten.

“Afternoon Titans!” Cyborg hollered, excitably hurrying around to face them all. They all ceased their movement, looking up at the cybernetic teen expectantly.

“You sound chipper.” Raven said in a monotone, contemplating just continuing to read,

“Well, you would be too if ya got what I just bought.” Cyborg grinned, his eyes shifting to alight on Starfire in particular.

“Please, what did you purchase, Cyborg?” Starfire asked, sitting up straight now, magazine cast aside. Beast Boy too, leaned forward on the sofa to see.

“I was walking home from the auto part store and this gypsy lady was-”

“Didn’t we say no more buying stuff from gypsy ladies in alleyways after the whole Mother Mae Eye incident?” Robin reminded him, looking mildly annoyed.

Cyborg rolled his human eye and waved a hand dismissively, “This one was legit, I swear!”

Robin sighed, “Uh huh.”

Carefully, Cyborg placed the medium sized box on the table and opened it up for them to see.

There was a pause as they all peered inside. 

She was small but well preserved, by the looks of it. No cracks in her face, no tears in her dress. The doll had a white face with only a dab of pink to give it a somewhat ‘rosy’ effect. The dress was a mix of black and green silk and lace, giving it a Victorian era feel to it. It was layered, showing little black boots on her feet. Her thinly painted eyebrows were curved slightly, making her seem sad. The lips were painted a dark red colour and the hair was curled over the shoulders. Her eyes were a piercing green whilst her shiny hair was a deep wine shade, much like her lips.

Beast Boy snickered, “You got a doll?”

Robin smirked a little whilst Raven rolled her eyes and sat back, attention reverting back to her book.

“Oh ha ha. I got it because the lady was throwing it away and it was in nice condition. I thought one of you girls might like it.”

“Pass. I don’t do dolls.” Raven mumbled,

Cyborg shook his head and looked at his Alien friend, “Star?”

Starfire floated over to the table, gently scooping the doll up to examine her further. She smiled, running her fingers over the dolls hair.

“Oh… she is very sweet. May I keep her, Cyborg?” Starfire asked, fixing the cuffs of the doll’s dress.

Cyborg grinned and ruffled her hair in a brotherly manner, “Of course, Star. At least it gets some use.”

Starfire beamed at him, “Thank you! I shall make sure she continues to be well preserved!”

As she sat back down, Robin eyed the doll warily. 

“Uh, Star… where are you gonna keep it?” He asked,

Starfire frowned, “The doll is she; not it, Robin.” She paused, “And I will place her in our room.”

Robin groaned, “But… she’s so… creepy looking.”

“She is delightful.”

Beast Boy leaned over to look at Starfire’s new doll, “You know, Star… green eyes, red hair… she kinda reminds me of you.”

Starfire raised an eyebrow, “I would hope I am prettier than the doll.”

Robin chuckled and kissed her cheek, “A hell of a lot more.”

She giggled and ran her fingers through the doll’s hair, already thinking about where she would place her new friend.

TtTtTt

Starfire sang to herself as she brushed her hair in the mirror of her vanity table. They were getting ready for bed and she was almost about done.

Every few seconds, her eyes kept darting to the left hand corner of her mirror, growing somewhat uncomfortable. Her doll was positioned in the back of her room and she could clearly see the china doll staring at her in the reflection. 

The past few days, Starfire had been loving her doll a little less. The constant gaze made her unnerved and she’d started getting creeped out by her. It always felt like the doll’s eyes were following her around the room.

“Ready for bed, Star?” Robin asked, clambering into their bed,

Starfire blanched and placed her brush down, spinning on her chair to face her boyfriend. She smiled and nodded, walking over and slipping beneath the sheets.

She snuggled up to Robin, his arms coming around her as they got comfy. He pressed kisses all over her face, making her squirm and giggle. For a while, she forgot all about the doll, keeping her back to it.

However, as Robin’s breathing evened out, showing he had fallen asleep, she found herself glancing over her shoulder at the doll. Starfire was beginning to understand Robin’s comment about her being creepy. There was something about this doll that made her uneasy.

After numerous times spent looking over at the doll, Starfire quietly got out of bed, wandered over to it and threw a blanket over her, hiding herself from the doll’s view.

Feeling better, Starfire got back into bed and happily kept her back to it.

TtTtTt

A couple days later, Starfire wandered down the hall in the direction of the room she shared with Robin. Since hiding her doll with a blanket, she felt much calmer and didn’t feel like she was being relentlessly watched. 

As she approached their door, it slid open and allowed her inside. Starfire frowned, immediately getting a sense of dread in her stomach. She slowly turned to face her doll, only for it to not be in the chair she’d placed it on. 

The blanket was crumpled on the chair but the doll was not with it.

Starfire froze, turned and spied the doll sitting on the floor by her wardrobe. Her heart dropped, fear settling instead. How did she get there? Robin hadn’t moved it; he’d have no reason to.

She swallowed and slowly crept up to the doll. Taking a shaky breath, Starfire scooped up the doll under the arms and stared into the glass, green eyes. Shivering with anxiety, Starfire opened the door of her wardrobe and sat the doll in there instead. 

Closing the door, Starfire stepped back and sighed, feeling silly for getting so scared over a doll. She turned and grabbed what she needed to before heading for her door.

As she reached it however, she heard shuffling and a crinkling sound akin to paper. Starfire gulped, turning to stare at the wardrobe door.

Tiptoeing back over, she focused on a piece of paper just beneath the crack in the closet door. Her heart was beating rapidly; fear coursing through her.

She crouched and picked up the note to read it, her stomach knotting in fright as her eyes travelled over the letters.

‘Come and play with me.’

Starfire’s eyes widened and there was a sudden thump on the door from inside the closer. She stumbled back, her breathing harsh before she sprinted out of her room, looking for Cyborg or Robin.

She didn’t know what to think; all she knew was that she wanted the doll out of the tower. Suddenly, she didn’t think the doll was quite as sweet as she first thought.